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“Could we come to a bargain?” she asked.
Both men caught her meaning and shook their heads. She tried again.
“You know who I am, so you must know that my uncle Alexander and aunt Matilda have the wealth of entire kingdoms at their disposal. Return me to the safety of the abbey and I will see you are both richly rewarded.”
Oddly enough, ‘twas Duncan who seemed to consider her offer. Oswuld didn’t.
“We have our duty, my lady,” the younger man said. “Besides, wealth would do neither Duncan nor me any good if my father hunted us down and carved out our hearts, now, would it?”
“Your father?”
“Thurkill, the man whose horse you pushed out of your way. He will not forgive you that for a long while, I wager.”
Judith didn’t care if Thurkill ever forgave her, and didn’t plan to be in his company long enough to find out. Somehow, she must convince these two men to let her go, or escape them once more. Judith plowed through the brambles, this time feeling every prick and scrape. The men moved forward as she came out of the patch, one on each side of her.
“What you do is unlawful,” she said.
“And for the greater good of England,” Duncan stated with a gleam of righteousness in his eyes. He grabbed her elbow and steered her back toward the road.
She jerked away. “I fail to understand how abducting me can possibly benefit the kingdom!”
“Well, you see, my lady, we-”
Oswuld interrupted, warning, “Duncan, that is a tale for my father to tell.”
Duncan took the rebuke with little grace, but said no more.
During the long walk back to the road, Judith looked for opportunities to escape. But with both men so close, she didn’t find one.
Thurkill waited where she’d left him, as did everyone else. The nuns still huddled together, unharmed.
“Took you long enough,” Thurkill complained.
Oswuld smiled. “She is a smart one, Father. Nearly gave us the slip, she did.”
Mercy, Oswuld sounded proud of her!
Duncan nodded in agreement, then grumbled, “Aye, she did. Has a mouth on her, too.”
Judith bristled, but kept her mouth closed.
“She can complain all she wishes and it will not change a thing. Let us be off,” Thurkill said.
The dread returned, with full and shattering force. These men were truly about to take her away. She’d wanted to leave behind the bleakness of the abbey, but not as someone’s prisoner.
“I beg you to reconsider, Thurkill,” she said, her voice shaking, tears far too close to the surface. “Have you no mercy in your heart?”
“None. Hand her up.”
Thurkill reached out a hand. Duncan and Oswuld grabbed her arms.
Judith screamed.
The woman’s first scream rang with anger, the second revealed her fear.
Or so Corwin judged from the distant sounds-too far away to be sure and too close to ignore.
He reined in his horse and signaled the company behind him to halt. Sitting quietly, resting his gauntlet-covered hands on his thighs, he tilted his head to listen. No more screams-only the rustling of a summer breeze through the surrounding woodland and the shuffling of soldiers’ feet on the dusty road.
William rode up beside him, with his sword already drawn. “Trouble ahead?”
“I hope not,” Corwin answered, but he wouldn’t be amazed if he found trouble, or at the least suffered another delay. The journey from Wilmont to Cotswold should have taken a sennight to complete, but had now dragged out to nearly a fortnight. A broken wagon axle. A horse gone lame. A nasty illness bringing most of the men low for days. The weather. All had conspired against him.
At least he’d been able to find a highly skilled carpenter in Romsey who, along with his assistants, now walked at the end of the entourage. The man could do with wood what a sculptor could do with clay or stone. Gerard was sure to be pleased with the man’s work.
Now, so near to Romsey Abbey, another delay loomed.
He must investigate, of course, not so much to aid a woman in trouble as to ensure no harm threatened the company of men and wagons in his charge.
Corwin turned in the saddle and called to Geoffrey, “William and I will go ahead and see what is happening. Keep the company here until we return.”
Geoffrey nodded.
Corwin nudged his horse up the road, setting a cautious pace, hoping that whatever situation lay ahead could be resolved quickly. He wanted to deliver his sister’s letter to Romsey Abbey, then be off to Cotswold. If he pushed the company, he could reach the manor by nightfall.
He crested the hill to see a group of five nuns. One of them, the shortest, seemed to be sobbing into her hands. The others hovered over her as if comforting her.
William sighed. “Only nuns,” he said, sheathing his sword.
“Aye, nuns,” Corwin echoed.
To his chagrin, he wondered if one of the taller blackrobed women might be Judith. Likely not, because all of them wore veils, and unless her circumstances had changed drastically, Judith wouldn’t be veiled.
He’d thought of Judith too many times over the past few days, probably because of the letter he carried tucked securely between his chain mail and the padded gambeson beneath. Often, he’d envisioned her as the heart-faced, sweet-voiced maiden who’d been so kind to Ardith, whose dove-gray eyes had sparkled with interest in him. Then he would recall their last encounter-Judith’s nose high in the air, firmly declaring him unworthy of her notice.
His embarrassment had stung hard, still rankled, even though he knew she’d been right. He might be Saxon, as was Judith. He might be an excellent warrior and a loyal servant of his lord, a man of good family and honorable reputation. Nothing, however, could change the fact that Judith was of royal birth and he wasn’t.
Truly, he had no wish to see Judith Canmore again, not even to confirm if she’d blossomed from an adorable girl into a beautiful woman.
Corwin urged his horse to a faster pace, wondering what had made one of the nuns scream. Near them, several baskets lined the side of the road. A few were tipped over, the plants the nuns had been gathering strewn about. Obviously, something had caused one of them a fright, but he sensed no danger now.
As he and William approached, the nuns turned to look. Their expressions of stark fear caused him to slow again. He’d expect wariness-but fear?
True, he and William probably seemed fearsome, clad in chain mail and looking the worse for their troubled journey. To ease the nun’s minds, he slowed his horse to a walk.
“Hail, good sisters,” he called out. “Can we be of aid?”
The nuns looked from one to the other, still fearful of his intent. Then the one who’d been sobbing, her ageweathered face red and wet, held up a halting hand. Corwin honored her request for distance.
“We mean you no harm, Sister.” Corwin dismounted and tossed his horse’s reins to William. He held out his hands, palms up, in a gesture of peace. “We heard your screams. Are you in need of our help?”
“You are not one ofthem?”
Them?
“I am Corwin of Lenvil, knight of Wilmont, currently escorting a company of men and supplies to Cots wold.” He smiled, hoping to ease her further. “Had I not come upon you on the road, we might have met within the next hour, for I intended to stop at Romsey Abbey. My men and I can escort you back there, if you wish.”
The nuns bent toward each other, conferring, deciding on his trustworthiness, most likely. Soon their heads bobbed in agreement and the little wizened nun came bustling toward him. Her expression changed from fearful to merely guarded.
“I believe I have heard of you, Corwin of Lenvil,” she said. “Your sister is Ardith of Wilmont, a friend of both Queen Matilda and Judith Canmore, is she not?”
“You have the right of it, Sister.”
The nun glanced at the road behind him. “Have you many men with you?”
‘Thinking he understood her continued wariness, he shook his head. “Not so many, and good men all. You and your companions need not fear to be among them, Sister.”
She dismissed his assurances with a wave of her hand. “I do not fear your men. I had only hoped.oh, dear.” The nun looked both disappointed and confused for a moment, then continued. “We must return to the abbey to summon the sheriff. If you would be so kind as to let us ride in one of your wagons, we would be most grateful.”
Wondering why the nun felt the need to summon the sheriff, Corwin took in the scene before him, paying closer attention. This time, he saw the fresh hoofprints from several horses.
“What happened here, Sister?”
“We were accosted by a group of ruffians.” She went so pale Corwin thought she might faint. “They.they took Judith.”
Corwin knew only one woman named Judith. As much as he hoped the nun referred to some other, he knew better. Still, he asked, “Judith Canmore? Those were her screams I heard?”
“Aye.” Tears flowed freely down her wrinkled cheeks. “She tried to run away, but the men caught her.”
Corwin could honestly say he knew what terror Judith must be feeling. When his twin had suffered being kidnapped, their link had flared. He’d felt Ardith’s horror and fear, making his hands tremble and his brow sweat.
What he’d done then for Ardith he must do now for Judith. Effect a rescue. All manner of questions begged answers, but he asked only the important ones.
“How many men?”
“Three.”
“All mounted? All armed?”
“Aye, and all Saxons.”
The revelation didn’t surprise him. Most of the brigands who roamed the roads were disgruntled or disavowed Saxons, keeping themselves alive by committing theft.
“They took the road?”
She nodded.
Corwin glanced up the road, then chided himself for looking for a plume of dust. There wouldn’t be one. The brigands had a good lead on him, but if he hurried while the trail was still fresh, he could catch up with them quickly.
Or was he moving too fast? If the queen’s guards.nay, Matilda must not be in residence or the nun would be inclined to send the guards after Judith, not the sheriff.
“Was Judith hurt?” he asked.
Distressed, the nun crossed herself. “Her.her robe was torn. I fear the men who chased her did not treat her gently.”
Resigned to the need for haste, Corwin turned to William. “Bring the wagons up and take the good sisters to the abbey. Have the abbess summon the sheriff.”
William raised a surprised eyebrow. “You mean to go after them alone? Let me accompany you.”
Corwin swung up into his saddle. “There are only three men. With luck I can have Judith back to the abbey within a few hours at most. If I do not return by morn, take the company on to Cotswold. I will join you there as soon as I am able.”
He felt a gentle hand on his calf.
“We will pray. God go with you,” the nun said.
Corwin reached down and covered her hand with his own. “Your prayers are most welcome. Is there aught else I should know?”
She was silent a moment, then said softly. “‘Twas not happenstance the brigands took the unveiled one among us. They knew who Judith Canmore was and meant to have her.”
He’d never doubted it. Not for one moment had he thought that a group of brigands had happened upon the nuns and decided to take the unveiled one among them for sport.
Corwin urged his horse forward, his ire rising with the horse’s increasing speed. What the devil had Judith been doing out here, so far from the abbey, without a guard? Surely she knew of the dangers she faced if caught outside the abbey walls. The woman should know better than to be wandering about.
Judith certainly hadn’t been given permission to leave the abbey, of that he was sure. Being of royal family herself, having had the duty of caring for Matilda as a young woman, Abbess Christina knew well the dangers and wouldn’t allow Judith to leave the cloister without protection.
Judith had sneaked out disregarding not only her own safety but that of the nuns. Thoughtless of her. Irresponsible.
The tracks Corwin followed came to an abrupt end. The brigands had left the road and taken to the woodland. He entered the forest where the hoofprints ended, where the brush had been disturbed. A few feet off the road, he stopped to pick up a small piece of roughly woven wool. A piece of Judith’s black robe.
Corwin rubbed it between his fingers, wondering if she’d purposely dropped it for someone to find or if it had simply torn loose.
He shouldn’t have to chase after her. She needn’t now be in the hands of rough men. This whole incident would have been avoided if Judith had simply used her sense and remained where she belonged.
Corwin was in the mood to tell her so.
First, however, he had to find her.
Chapter Three (#ulink_1ec1cdab-0046-5626-8966-9eb7c904d8a9)
Judith’s hope for an immediate rescue dimmed along with the fading day. Thurkill obviously knew this area well. They’d long since left the road and ridden swiftly through the woodland, at times on trails and others not. Judith doubted that even a skilled tracker could find her now.
With no rescue imminent, she must devise her own escape. She prayed for an opportunity to arise soon, at a place where she might find aid, giving her a chance at success.
Heedless of her discomfort, Thurkill had pressed hard all day. They’d stopped only once for a brief rest and a meager meal. Her backside had gone numb from the constant abuse of the horse’s rough gait. Her hands and arms grew weary from holding tight to Thurkill’s leather hauberk to prevent herself from falling off.
A grunt escaped her lips when the horse stopped suddenly, tossing her forward against Thurkill’s back.
“We will camp here for the night,” he said. “Slide off, my lady.”
