Lady At Arms (9 page)

Lizanne clamped her mouth shut. Only when he went from sight did she give in to the emotions that hammered at her temples with such intensity it seemed her head might split open.

She dropped her chin. “Ah, Gilbert, what have I done?”

There was no one to answer her, no one to offer hope for the wrong she had sought to right. A great sorrow, rooted in years of anger at the injustice suffered by her brother and her, descended, so thick she feared it might smother her.

“Now that you have her, what will you do with her?”

Walter’s question was not unexpected, nor new to Ranulf, for he had asked it of himself numerous times since departing Penforke. Still, he resented it, and especially that he felt obliged to further discuss Lizanne Balmaine—so much that, rather than collect his prisoner himself, he had sent his squire and Walter’s for her.

Confident the young men would follow his instructions and heed his warnings, he turned from their retreating backs and met the gaze of the man who stood at the center of the tent. “I shall teach her a much needed lesson.”

“Methinks already you have done that, my lord.”

“There is more she must learn.”

“And there is more you must needs consider, Ranulf.” Walter’s familiar use of his name was a reminder that Ranulf had not always been his liege, but a young man in need of guidance. “You have abducted a noblewoman—”

“A favor repaid in kind.”

Walter sighed. “For that, none would fault you, but are you prepared to defend your actions by revealing hers—that she knocked a warrior senseless, chained him, and forced him to cross swords with her?”

It was not a thing of which a man would boast, Ranulf allowed, but it was an offense that pride demanded not go unpunished. “I will deal with that when I come to it.”

Walter took a step toward him. “You cannot have prayed about this.”

Ranulf did not dare, for he was familiar enough with God to know revenge was not pleasing to Him. “I have not.” He firmly held his gaze to the other man. “Nor shall I.”

Disappointment staggered across the older man’s face. “Then you will put aside all I taught you—all you know to be true.”

“Lizanne Balmaine is my prisoner and will remain such.”

Walter shook his head. “I shall be bold then and tell you what I see.”

“What is that?”

“In spite of all that has gone between you and the lady, you desire her.”

Ranulf knew he should not be surprised, for Walter knew him better than any. He pivoted, crossed to the tent opening, and came back around. “I know I should not, that she gives me no reason, but it is true.”

Walter narrowed his eyes. “And?”

“And what?”

“You will further stir this hornet’s nest by making her your leman?”

It 
had 
been a consideration—even before he had kissed her—and, in his anger, he had allowed her to believe he might be of such a mind.

Ranulf lifted a hand to his neck and kneaded the muscles there. “You know me, Walter. The lady would have to be willing, and this lady is not.”

“In that I believe you are right.”

He was, but if only he knew the reason! “She thinks me capable of all manner of ill and yet refuses to reveal what I have done to earn her wrath.”

Walter closed the distance between them and gripped his shoulder. “Whatever it is, she is wrong. This I know.”

Ranulf inclined his head. “I thank you, friend.”

Walter lowered his arm. “And now I would advise you.”

As Ranulf did not wish to be advised, but he did not send him away.

“Lizanne Balmaine is a noblewoman and will one day wed a nobleman. Even if you do not give in to temptation, ‘twould be folly for you to share quarters with the lady.”

Ranulf jutted his chin at the far side of the tent. “As you can see, there are two pallets, each in its own corner.”

When he looked back around, disapproval compressed Walter’s lips. “Folly, Ranulf,” he repeated. “Unless you think to wed her yourself.”

Had Walter struck with a fist rather than words, he could not have landed a harder blow. “I do not,” Ranulf growled. “There is a world between desire for a shrew and spending one’s life with one.”

Walter sighed, crossed to the tent opening, and looked over his shoulder. “Still, you have not told me what you will do with her.”

Ranulf clenched his hands. “When she reveals the crime of which I stand accused, then I will decide and not before.”

“Let us pray ‘tis not too late.” Walter stepped outside and dropped the flap behind him.

It was dark and growing cold before anyone came for her. Her tears having dried, Lizanne squinted at the two sent to fetch her to Wardieu.

Their torches revealed youthful, somber faces. However, the one she recognized as Wardieu’s squire was clearly trying to mask a grin.

Though the deception she was about to work made her want to retch for the severe punishment they would surely receive, she favored each with a smile and flirtatiously swept her lashes down.

Both youths broke into grins.

The taller one stepped forward. “I am Geoff, Baron Wardieu’s squire. This is Roland, Sir Walter’s squire.”

“Geoff and Roland.” She forced her smile wider. “You may call me Lizanne.”

Blushing, Roland moved closer. “B-Baron Wardieu has instructed us to escort you to him.”

She angled her head, feigning bewilderment. “Two of you? Why, I am honored.”

Geoff nudged Roland and winked, then handed his friend his torch and dropped down beside her. There ensued a struggle to untie the rope that bound her to the tree, but at last it fell away. A hand beneath her elbow, Geoff assisted her to her feet.

“Thank you.” She entreatingly thrust her joined hands forward.

Geoff shook his head. “Baron Wardieu did not say we could.”

She widened her eyes. “Then how am I to relieve myself? Surely, he did not set you that task as well?”

The young men shifted uncomfortably.

“The baron told that we are to bring you straight to him,” Geoff said.

Lizanne bowed her head. “I fear I shall not make it that far. Mayhap one of you can accompany me—though you must vow not to look.”

Though they were obviously ill at ease, they agreed and Geoff unsheathed his dagger.

 Fearful of losing a finger to the young man’s clumsiness, Lizanne held her breath as he cut the rope from her wrists and sighed when she was freed without mishap.

To her chagrin, it was Geoff—the larger of the two—who volunteered to accompany her into the wood. He retrieved his torch from the other squire and led the way.

Rubbing her wrists, Lizanne followed.

“There.” He pointed to a row of low-lying bushes several feet away.

She shook her head. “They are poisonous. Did you not know?” She walked past him and headed deeper into the wood.

“This will do,” she announced when they were out of sight of Roland’s torch. Peering around a large oak tree, she motioned for him to turn around. He obliged.

Lizanne could hardly believe her good fortune when he began to whistle, the noise masking her movements as she groped along the ground in search of a weapon. Hefting a decent-sized branch, she weighed it for ease of swing. Though she did not like that leaves clung to it, for they would rustle, it would have to suffice.

Verifying Geoff’s back was turned to her, she crept from behind the tree and winced as the leaves crackled beneath her feet.

The young man did not hear her approach, perhaps did not even realize he had been struck when he fell at her feet.

She retrieved his fallen torch, thrust its tip into the ground, and knelt beside him. His pulse was strong, indicating she had not struck too hard, but the lump on his skull would be of good size when he returned to consciousness.

“Forgive me,” she said and began to disrobe him. Within minutes, she was outfitted in his garments, his dagger belted at her waist.

Turning away, she fled deeper into the wood and, though there was not much moon to guide her, made do with what there was.

With contained anger, Ranulf stared at the unconscious young man. In spite of the long years of training, first as his page and most recently his squire, the lad had failed him. He had ignored an order and, as a result, Lizanne had escaped. Mayhap he had overestimated Geoff’s ability—

Nay, he had underestimated Lizanne’s. And not for the first time. He clawed a hand though his hair and over his scalp. He was more angry with himself than the gullible squires he had sent in his stead. Foolishly, he had believed two nearly grown men would have no difficulty bringing one woman to him. The lads would be disciplined for disregarding his orders, but he alone must take responsibility for what Lizanne had done.

Impatiently, he wondered at the time it was taking Roland to alert the camp and assemble a search party. He had sent the cowering squire for them minutes ago. If they did not arrive shortly, he would go for them himself.

When Geoff groaned and raised his head, Ranulf stepped closer and flung Lizanne’s bunched-up bliaut at him.

The dazed squire emerged from the garments and, rubbing the back of his head, looked up.

After realization came horror. “My lord!” He scrambled to his feet, then pitched forward onto his knees. Only then did he notice his state of undress. Wearing only braies, every other garment having been stripped from him, he forced himself upright and bowed his head.

Ranulf knew well his discomfort. Had Lizanne not done the same to him? Still, it was necessary to impress upon the squire the seriousness of his error.

“What say you?” he demanded.

“My lord, the lady claimed she had need of privacy—”

“And you believed her?”

“She deceived me.”

“Nay, you allowed yourself to be deceived. What did she do? Smile at you?”

Geoff shuffled his feet in the fallen leaves, and Ranulf pivoted away.

Shortly, his men entered the wood. Leading Ranulf’s horse, Walter arrived ahead of the group with shamefaced Roland riding behind.

Bearing torches, the men assembled before Ranulf and awaited their instructions. Though their eyes reflected amusement at the sight of Geoff, they wisely held their tongues.

Ranulf took the reins Walter passed to him and mounted his horse. “Geoff, you shall ride with Roland,” he said, then frowned. “He has brought clothes for you. Be thankful I do not make you don Lady Lizanne’s.”

As the squire turned away, Ranulf issued his orders and divided his men into two groups. With himself leading one group and Walter the other, they rode in opposite directions.

Ranulf guided his men through the densely wooded region. Their progress was frustratingly slow, but there was comfort in knowing they covered ground more rapidly than Lizanne would be able to on foot.

Throughout, Ranulf silently cursed the night and the weak sliver of moon. Under cover of darkness, it would be easy to overlook her were she hidden among the trees.

Had she truly escaped him? Why had he told her about Gilbert? Why had he not waited? As long as she had believed he held her precious brother, this would not have happened.

He ground his teeth. If she eluded him all the way back to Penforke, he would bring her out again—even if he had to topple the walls around her.

“My lord!”

Ranulf reined in and eyed the horse speeding through the trees toward them. A moment later, one of the men from Walter’s party halted before him.

“We have found her!”

Relief swept through Ranulf. “Where?”

The man hesitated. “She has gone over the side of a ravine.”

Ranulf’s chest tightened. “She is unharmed?”

“For the moment. Sir Walter has sent someone down to bring her up.”

The ride was a short one, though for Ranulf it seemed without end. When he spotted the glow of torches atop a rise, he overtook the messenger and covered the remaining distance alone.

Walter hurried forward as Ranulf dismounted. “Kendall is with her, my lord.”

The men who peered into the ravine moved aside at their lord’s approach.

Leaning over the edge of the sheer drop, Ranulf looked down and heard the rush of water before he caught the play of light over its surface. It was a long way to the bottom. Worse than expected.

It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the shadowy scene below. When they did, he first saw the knight who had been lowered thirty feet down the side. Then, following the man’s progress to the right, he located Lizanne. She appeared to have a firm hold on an outcropping of vegetation, but she was practically vertical against the cliff, suspended who knew how many feet above the breaking water.

When she lifted her head in response to the commotion above, the light from the torches danced over her features.

Ranulf saw the mass of hair strewn across her filthy face, but what held his attention was her expression. She looked furious when she ought to be screaming, weeping, pleading—anything but defiant. She ought to be terrified!

“You certainly took the long way here, Ranulf Wardieu,” she called through the chill night air.

Was she truly chastising him? He dragged a hand across his eyes. At least he could be fairly certain she was unharmed.

Kendall, having worked his way along the wall, was now beside her. “My lady, give me your hand.”

“Nay!”

“I would help you.” He reached for her arm.

Ranulf watched in amazement as she jerked away. “I do not ask for your help!”

“Lizanne!” Ranulf bellowed. “Give Sir Kendall your hand—now!”

She looked up. “Leave me be. I shall find my own way up.”

The knight reached for her again but pulled back when her struggles sent rocks showering from beneath her feet. An instant later, the undergrowth to which she clung snapped.

A gasp went up as she slid farther down the wall and scrambled for another hold. Miraculously, she grasped a root and her descent was arrested a few feet below her original position.

“Bring him up!” Ranulf shouted.

When Kendall was pulled over the side, Ranulf cut the rope sling from him and fashioned another for himself. Without delay, he was lowered over the edge.

As he drew near, Lizanne turned her face away.