Yearning Heart (34 page)

“Rebecca, thou makest no sense. Demons? Where is the other highwaymen?”

“Delivering a ransom note that begs delivery of money so I can be released.”

“A note to me?”

“Aye. One to thee and another to King Henry.”

Rebecca glanced around to see Aubin moving his horse closer. She smiled and lifted her hand in greeting.

Aubin's wide grin answered her. “M'lady.” He bowed his head.

Stephen regarded his wife with wonder. He had thought to find her hysterical and frightened. Instead, she jumped, unhurt, into his arms, and spoke of a sleeping captor and one who has been hit by a stone—thrown by her arm.

She was not unhurt. Her chin was red and swollen, and a trickle of blood seeped from the corner of her mouth. Her ripped cape disclosed a deep wound on her arm. He could only guess at what had happened to her slender body beneath the torn clothing. Rage filled him at the thought of her pain. He turned to Aubin.

“Take the Lady Rebecca to yon bush and care for her wounds.”

“Stephen, I do not wish...”

Stephen had already turned away, motioning the four riders to follow him as he gave his reins to Aubin and disappeared between the boulders.

Aubin swung down, looked her over, and then led Rebecca away from the path Stephen and the others had taken. Rebecca's temper flared, and she breathed hard through her mouth, tasting blood now that she had time to be aware.

“Thou master is a stubborn man, Aubin,” she said as he worked on the dark red flesh of her arm.

Aubin had taken supplies from a pouch strapped around his horse and now, he placed a wet powder on the wound.

Rebecca winced.

“It has a sting.”

Aubin nodded. “'Tis a potent herb Malvina gathered at Mrs. Witherstone's. ‘Tis said to heal well.” He tended the scratches on her face, patting the herbs onto her skin with gentle fingers. His heart ached that his favorite lady had suffered at the hand of rogues.

Rebecca heard the sound of horses first. She pulled at Aubin's loose sleeve.

“Listen. The others return. Stephen will be in danger.”

He frowned towards the faint hum he could not even distinguish as horses. The Lady Rebecca had sharp ears.

“How far to the young king and his henchmen inside the tombs?” Aubin asked.

“In truth, I do not know. It is a goodly walk on the path. I came over the rocks.”

“Come.”

Aubin pulled Rebecca with him until they passed several tall pillars.

“Stay here,” he said. “Hold the animal and do not let him speak.”

Before she could protest, he was gone, vanishing around stones and into the dimness towards where Stephen had disappeared. She tried to hear the horses again but could not. Aubin's horse stood patiently, blowing gently through his nose.

Rebecca looked around and found a small twig growing in a crevice. She looped the horse's reins over the small branch, and then placed a fist-sized rock over that. Climbing onto the tall animal's back, she stood unsteadily, swaying until she spread her feet for balance. From there, she could step onto a low column with ridges slanted enough to hold her feet. The stockings were now filled with rips and tears, and her toes peeked through, allowing her to dig them into the shallow ledge. They were so cold as to be almost numb. She only hoped she could keep them anchored to prevent falling to her death on the stones below.

She leaned far across a chasm, grabbed hold of another pillar, found as she did that her fingers were so cold she could not hold fast. Her breath came hard, making a mist in front of her face. She hung, half on one rock, half on another.

The galloping hooves were suddenly close, and she looked down to see the young king's note bearers rounding four stone columns. The man in the lead looked up to see Rebecca clinging to the wall of rock.

Mouth opened in astonishment, the man stared upward, and then he let out a bellow of laughter.

“See, Simon,” he shouted. “The she-cat has escaped young Henry and even now hangs above us for the picking.”

He lifted his sword to point at Rebecca, the tip of the blade almost reaching her foot.

The second rogue joined his friend.

“Shall we pick her, then, George? ‘Tis plain the young king dost not wish her for his own or he would not let her escape, eh?”

Rebecca's temper erupted. Here she was, hanging like a pig to be butchered, and these, these lechers make light of her discomfort. They knew not what she had been through, nor did they care. She'd suffered from cold, from hunger, from many bruises and scratches, from fright, and yet she was to be put to more mishandling.

Measuring the distance with cold calculation, Rebecca half turned, slid over the curved stone, and onto the shoulders of the first knave. He yelled as the sword he held over his head clashed against his skull and bounced onto his horse's neck. The animal bolted, spilling George headfirst against a pillar. He lay still.

Rebecca landed on her bottom, felt her bones jar all the way to her teeth. She shook her head, looked up as Simon came toward her, waving his sword. He would run her through, she was certain, because there was nowhere for her to go. With her back against a rock, her legs spread awkwardly to the side, and her arms numb from the fall, she was unable to move.

She closed her eyes and waited for the deadly blow to fall.

It never came.

There was a thundering of hooves, a maniacal yell, and the clatter of metal on metal. The knave attacking her disappeared from his horse. The horse reared back on his haunches, gave a screaming whinny and tore off through the twisting path between the giant pillars of stone.

* * * *

As Rebecca had said, the young king lay peacefully asleep. Stephen knelt by him, touched his throat. He was alive. Stephen frowned, and then bent closer. The odor of wine and something else. A drug. Yea, even the royal family was guilty of overusing strong herbs and tonics, and mixed with wine, it could do much damage.

Stephen motioned his companions through the maze of stones, and they searched until they found William stretched at the bottom of a pillar, a bloody rock nearby.

“A sound, Sir Stephen,” one of the young farmers spoke. “'Tis horses, I fear.”

Stephen and his companions left William where they had found him and followed a winding path through the dim caverns between tall, rounded stones and alongside flat, smooth ones the size of the courtyard at New Sarum. Stephen stopped and raised his hand so the others reined in their mounts. They listened, but there was no sound of other animals.

They had started forward once more when a wild yell brought Stephen around. He listened, motioned with his arm, and his men turned with him in the direction of a second scream.

Stephen's mount struggled to make sharp turns, his breath showing gray ahead of them. The horse skidded, reared, then surged ahead on a clear path when Stephen saw a rider coming at break-neck speed toward him, leaning in his saddle, sword raised to strike at something on the ground.

He yanked on the reins, swayed to the side, and turned the big horse into the oncoming rider. The two animals collided and Stephen flung himself into the other man. They went down together. Stephen saw a snarling mouth, teeth gritted and bared, and big hands coming to encircle his throat. He lowered his head and pushed his feet against the stone at his back, lunging upward. His head cracked beneath the other man's chin, and Stephen heard the gurgle as his enemy tried to swallow. Stephen struck with both fists, and the man lay still.

He found it hard to breathe so rolled over on his back to lie blinking at a patch of blue sky far above the land of tombs. His head ached and his arms felt as though pulled from his shoulders.

“Stephen?”

Rebecca's soft voice brought his eyes wide open. She was leaning over him, hair tangled over her shoulders and falling into his face. Her cheeks were scratched, her mouth blood-flecked. She touched his jaw and ran fingers over his bearded throat. Then she bent and brushed her lips over his.

It was a scalding touch, a piercing stab of emotion that set his heart to pounding and, astonished, he felt instant arousal. His body was tortured, his senses confused, his brain in turmoil, and he wanted Rebecca with a fierceness he could not explain.

“Kiss me hard,” he whispered.

She was on her knees, hunched over him, both hands digging into his shoulders. Her eyes widened at his demand.

“Oh, Stephen, I thought thee hurt,” she said, half laughing, half crying.

“I am hurt. Kiss me, Rebecca.”

He didn't move his hands. For truth, he could not. They felt heavy and torn.

Rebecca stared at her husband. There was a thin streak of blood from the corner of one eye. Gray dust covered half of his beard. She bent her head.

She didn't know if it was his lips or hers that tasted of blood but, ignoring the unpleasantness, she opened her mouth and slid her tongue over Stephen's firm lips. Gently, she licked dust and blood away, closing her mouth to brush back across. Hesitating, she stopped, and then pushed the tip of her tongue between his teeth. With a low moan, Stephen opened his mouth, and Rebecca felt the slash of hot feeling pour into her stomach.

It was maddening, this wanting to be inside of Stephen, to have him inside her, in this wild and uninhabited place of ghosts and demons. She didn't try to stop but pushed her tongue deep into Stephen's mouth, withdrawing and plunging, conscious of his body jerking and twisting beneath her.

His hands fastened around her hips, pulled her onto him, and the thick, swollen arousal stabbed her through the thickness of his clothing. He was kissing her now instead of her kissing him, and his mouth opened and closed, teeth nipping her tender lips. His tongue slid inside her mouth, wrapped around hers, sucking.

She whimpered and heard Stephen's strained groan.

He would take her here, here on the cold ground with both of them wounded, if he could but get his arms to move. His body responded with all the heat and wanting of a healthy man as Rebecca's hands slipped around his neck and her body lay atop his. He wanted her, he would have her if ...

“Sir Stephen, mayhap thou should look at the rogues ere we take them.”

Stephen held onto her for an instant longer, and then pushed her to his side, one hand clamping her arm. He tried to sit up, and she disentangled herself to help him. He shook his head to clear it.

“All art accounted for?”

“Yea, my lord. The one called William cannot walk, and the young king is sleeping yet.”

“How much drink has young Henry had, Rebecca?”

“Not a great amount, my lord, but mixed with a potion I use when unwell, it was as though the strength doubled. It did not take much to work quickly.”

“And William?”

“I fell on him.”

“Fell on him?” Stephen started to shake his head. It hurt.

“I was on one of the stones.” Rebecca motioned with her hand. “He came after me, and I fell on the ground. There was a rock near my hand.”

She smiled, and the smile turned her face into the elfin waif Stephen remembered from years back, made him want to snatch her up and kiss her breathless.

“There was naught to do but use it, my lord,” she said.

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Chapter Twenty-Five

If Rebecca had thought Stephen's injuries would interfere with his royal duties, she found out differently. His wounds were not yet healed when he made ready to travel.

“Thou dost not needs go to London, Stephen,” Rebecca said. “'Tis not thy place to take the young king to see his father on my account.”

“Nay, Rebecca, I cannot send young Henry to London alone. It is necessary that I tell the king and queen what happened at the stones. They will believe me and punishment will be given.”

“Of course, Stephen. What wilt the punishment be? Young Henry will be given a room in the royal suite and served a better wine than he can afford on kidnap ransoms he knows not how to collect? Wilt provide protection also for William and Simon and George?”

“Thy tongue has grown sharper in the two summers past, Rebecca. Thou knowest not what...”

Rebecca picked up the velvet skirt of the orchid dressing gown Malvina had brought her when she had her first hot bath in many days. Without speaking again, she reached the door and yanked it open. Her lips pressed together in anger.

“Do not walk away when I am speaking, Rebecca.”

For answer, Rebecca swung the door as far back as her arm allowed, then slammed it with all her strength.

Stephen swore and went after her, but his hand refused to handle the knob. His wounds were still painful, and he did not have the strength to do what he always took for granted that he would do. He stormed silently at Rebecca and at himself.

How dare she speak thusly to him after being rescued and returned to the comfort of New Sarum? How dare she think she could advise
him
, her own husband, who ranked high with King Henry? How dare she question his decisions, disagree with what he thought would be the better way to approach the king? How dare she ...

Stephen stared at the door and could not help but smile. Rebecca had grown up. Yea, not only is she a lovelier woman, she has the spice of two naughty children begging for punishment. And she will get her punishment. As soon as my business is done in London, I will return to take care of the Lady Rebecca in the way she deserves. She will learn to agree with her husband, will learn that she is to abide by his words.

The thought satisfied him for the moment, and he turned back to allow Aubin to fasten the garments he no longer had fingers to work. Another in a long list of things that irritated him these days. He was silent but, as Aubin finished, he turned.

“Bring Malvina to me,” Stephen said.

Aubin worried over the look on his master's face. It bode ill for his favorite, Lady Rebecca. But he summoned Malvina, and then stood outside the door of Stephen's bedroom to listen to his master's instructions.

Stephen had been staring out the window until he heard Malvina enter his room.

“My lord?”

He turned. “I must needs go to London, Malvina, on business for the king. You know about the young king's trouble, that he was the one who kidnapped Rebecca?”