Snow in July (6 page)

Rather than answer Ruaud’s question aloud, he shouldered past his friend into the chamber that almost had become their tomb and tossed his sword onto the bed. After cross-gartering his trousers, he grabbed his boots and braced against the bed to tug them on. The outlaws had attacked too quickly for him to don footgear, and he thanked God it hadn’t hindered him. He retrieved his sword belt, girt it about his waist, and sheathed his sword.

He snatched his cloak from the back of a chair and settled it across his shoulders. In the corridor, he joined Ruaud, who was attempting to converse in his halting English with the innkeeper.

Alain wondered whether the man’s concern was an act. “How many other travelers have suffered a similar fate?”

The innkeeper blanched. “None, good squire! I-I beg you not to be angry with your humble servant.” He bowed double as though baring his neck to a headsman’s ax.

The odds of a Glastonbury connection jumped several notches.

The innkeeper looked so pathetic, Alain decided to take pity on him. “Be at ease. Sir Ruaud and I have taken no permanent injury.” Ruaud was regarding Alain with puzzlement, and he switched to French to ask, “Have you searched the bodies?”

Ruaud shook his head, and Alain squatted to take a closer look. None of the three men was wearing or carrying anything to suggest he was anything other than what he seemed.

He stood and told Ruaud, “I am going to check on our horses.”

“You think they have been stolen?” Alain shrugged, and Ruaud toed the closest corpse. “If so, then these poor sods will not need theirs. But wait.” He laid a hand on Alain’s arm, his grip radiating concern and urgency. “I will go with you.”

As Ruaud returned to the room for his outer gear, the innkeeper sidled up to Alain. “You won’t be—” Wringing his hands, he stared at the dead men and the open doorway to his Norman guests’ room before returning his gaze to Alain. He swallowed and grimaced. “You and your master won’t noise this abroad, will you?” he whispered.

“No worry there, friend.” Alain laughed mirthlessly. “But don’t take offense if you never see us again.”

That coaxed a wavering smile to the man’s lips. After bobbing another bow, he trudged off, presumably in search of someone to help him remove the corpses and mop up the blood before other guests stumbled upon the scene. Alain was a bit surprised that no one else had come out to investigate the fight; cowering in their beds, perhaps, or else too drunk to notice.

Ruaud joined him, and they headed for the stables. The outlaws’ horses were gone, even the animals the dead men had ridden, leaving a morass of the imprints of boots and hooves in the dew-dampened dirt. Alain studied the swath of tracks leading toward the crossroads and released a sigh.

“Any idea where they might have gone?” Ruaud asked.

“I cannot be certain. On the road’s hard-packed surface, they can ride anywhere without fear of being followed. But I do have a reasonable guess.” Ruaud cocked his head as if inviting Alain to continue. “West. Back to Glastonbury.”

Staring westward, Ruaud let out a low whistle. “For once, I hope you are wrong. I would not like the implications if you are proven right.”

The implications that someone in Sarum knew who they were and the nature of their mission, perhaps having been warned by a traitor in the regent’s employ…Alain couldn’t agree more.

As he turned, an odd print caught his attention. He stooped to trace it.

“Did you find something?” Ruaud asked.

“The innkeeper must have a dog.” An extremely large dog, he surmised, though he couldn’t recall having seen such an animal on the premises. A howl pierced the gloom from afar. Alain stood and gazed in the direction of the eerie sound. “Or perhaps a wolf passed through.”

“And the mere sight of us convinced it to keep going, eh?” Ruaud’s grin looked wan in the moonlight.

Hellish beasts…
Alain shrugged.

They warily resumed their course toward the stables and discovered one of the outlaws inside, lying facedown in a puddle of blood. Alain kicked him in the side. The man didn’t move. With his foot he righted the body.

Ecgfrith. Eyes bulging, his throat bore wide, jagged slashes as if he’d been cut with a dull blade.

Or a predator’s teeth.

Alain lifted an eyebrow at Ruaud. “Did you give him those wounds?” Extracting information from the guide would have been useful—and satisfying.

Ruaud shook his head. “Never saw him during the fight.”

Very odd.

Could the rumors contain a spark of truth?

Shoving aside the mystery of the man’s demise with a shake of his head, he noticed a small pouch that had spilled some of its contents into the straw. He drew his dagger, squatted to cut it from Ecgfrith’s belt, and straightened. Inside he found the coins Ruaud had given the guide and a few muslin-wrapped packets of dried herbs. Most of them Alain recognized as medicines any scout would carry: valerian, willow bark, chamomile, feverwort, elder. One, however, eluded him. He nudged the tiny, whitish petals with a fingertip.

Wild rose? Alain’s mother often had given him a tisane brewed from rose hips to ward off distempers of the nose and lungs, but he had never heard of any use for the petals other than garnishing delicacies at the king’s table.

Shrugging, he handed the coins to Ruaud, who accepted them with a short laugh. Alain added the medicines to his supply.

A familiar whinny disrupted the silence. He hastened past the other stalls, relieved to find Chou and Azure unhurt, if wild-eyed and jittery. Not that he could blame the animals; the air reeked of death. Alain stroked Chou’s velvety black muzzle, and the mare nosed his palm, questing for treats. He regretted not having anything to offer and scratched her jaw.

“You do not carry your saddle packs,” said Ruaud behind him, “but I wager that will not stop you from returning to London.”

“I shall forget you said that,” Alain growled, staring at the whorls of hair on Chou’s cheek. “But only because you are my closest friend.”

Ruaud chuckled, stepping closer to drop a hand onto his shoulder. “Between last night’s near-brawl and tonight’s mishap, the omens do not bode well.”

“Omens are for fools.” He shrugged Ruaud’s hand away. Omens had portended an easy victory for William at Hastings. On the eve of battle, Étienne cheerfully had equated “easy” with “bloodless.” And, foolishly, Alain had believed him.

Now worms were feasting upon Étienne’s bones even as worms of guilt feasted upon Alain’s soul.

Ruaud’s nod exuded sympathy. “Come, lad. You sleep while I stand watch.” He poked Alain in the ribs, chortling loud enough to make the horses stamp and toss their heads. “At this rate, I shall have to play the squire to even our score.”

Though Alain shared the laugh, he sensed that sleep would be a futile prospect. His mind’s eye was already reviewing the incident, stroke by harrowing stroke. But he appreciated Ruaud’s offer more profoundly than his friend could ever know.

KENDRA WOKE to the scraping of her bedcurtains’ wooden rings upon the dowel. Light assaulted her closed eyelids, and she winced. Squinting, she pushed herself into a sitting position to see Rowena bustling about the chamber, twittering like a love-smitten sparrow.

Today was the day.

She retreated to the pillows with an inward groan. But returning to her dreams wasn’t an option if it meant more arguing with Del about keeping her vows. He had looked so alive and was so insistent that she must seek happiness above all else. With her Norman bridegroom nearing her doorstep, she didn’t believe she could ever attain true happiness. She squeezed her eyes shut against the threat of tears.

“Please, my lady, ’tis time to dress.”

Touched by the concern in Rowena’s voice, she opened her eyes. Her new slate-blue gown had been laid across the foot of her bed, and Rowena was shaking out Edwina’s veil. “Now? Why?”

“Riders have been sighted and should arrive within the hour.”

“Already?” Kendra threw aside the bedclothes and stood.

Not Sir Robert! Please, not Sir Robert!

Resigned to her fate, she held out her arms for Rowena to assist her in donning her overdress.

God chose to answer her prayer, though in an unexpected manner. The riders proved to be Ulfric and a few members of his fyrd. She couldn’t decide whether to be thankful for the reprieve or annoyed that God had granted this trivial request but not her impassioned petitions for Del’s life.

On the manor’s stone steps, Ulfric dismissed his men-at-arms to the task of stabling their mounts.

“What brings you to Edgarburh?” Waldron asked. “Are you not busy dealing with the problems in your district?”

“My men and I were tracking one of the beasts,” Ulfric said. “It led us on to your lands, but we lost the trail near the granite quarry. Have any of your people seen anything unusual?”

“Not to my knowledge.” For a moment, Waldron looked dubious. “But I thank you for the warning. I shall alert my patrols.”

Ulfric grasped both Kendra’s hands and kissed her cheek. “My dearest cousin, you look more radiant each time I see you. The angels must weep for joy to behold your beauty.”

She felt her face flush and resorted to her usual rebuttal tactic. His rugged good looks and charm were forever turning maidens’ heads, but never hers. “And you, Ulfric, grow ever more silvery of tongue. Have you been practicing at court?”

His grin widened wolfishly. “I would love to show you what I’ve been practicing.”

I’m certain you would, cousin.
She pulled her hands from his. Her cheeks felt like fire. To ward off her embarrassment, she let ire surface. “I don’t believe my bridegroom will be too happy with that proposition.”

“Bridegroom?” Ulfric faced Waldron. Kendra could have sworn he’d feigned surprise. “Am I too late to renew my suit, my lord?”

“Aye,” Waldron replied, giving Ulfric’s broad shoulder a sympathetic clap. “By King William’s decree, no less.”

“Indeed?” Ulfric glanced around. “Where is this bridegroom? I should like to meet him.” Those ice-blue eyes came to rest upon Kendra rather covetously, she thought. When he blinked, the look gentled. “To make sure he is worthy of you, dear cousin.”

When he reached for her hand, she noticed a bandage swathing his wrist, bearing signs that the wound was oozing. “That needs changing. What happened? Can I help?”

Ulfric yanked back his hand, seemed to think better of his action, and smiled. Flexing the fingers, he studied his wrist as if for the first time. “’Tis nothing. A nip from that demon-spawned stallion of mine. I can change the bandage myself.” He knotted the hand into a fist and thrust it behind his back, making her wonder why he seemed anxious to hide it. “So, tell me where this lucky bridegroom of yours is.”

“Sir Robert de Bellencombre is not expected until after nones,” her father answered. “You and your men are welcome to stay, of course, for as long as you wish.” Waldron turned to instruct a waiting servant to prepare the hall to receive the visitors. The man saluted and left.

“You are ever gracious, cousin.” Ulfric bowed. “But I’ll not impose upon your hospitality past the morrow.” He winked at her. “Unless my lady Kendra wishes otherwise.”

His sly, faintly predatory smile awakened her old suspicions that not everything about Ulfric, whose name meant “wolf-king,” was as it seemed.

What she wished was to be left alone, with no thoughts of Normans or marriage or vows or regrets to trouble her. Having yet to devise a way to escape the tyranny of her mind, she would settle for the solitude.

With Ulfric in attendance, however, even that wish seemed doomed to be denied.

SURROUNDED BY Thane Waldron’s men, Alain rode behind Ruaud, absorbing the details of the Edgarburh estate. The reports of its wealth were supported by vast stretches of cropland, some fields ripening with summer wheat and others being harvested for hay. Sheep dotted grassy knolls too steep to cultivate. Cattle gazed at the warriors from the shade cast by ancient willows at the river’s edge, some preferring to chew cud while standing belly-deep in the placid waters. Most of the farmhouses looked tidy, well provisioned, and prosperous. Nor did the farmhands seem concerned to see Normans, although Alain attributed their apparent sense of security to the presence of the thane’s men.