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Duncan’s eyes narrowed. “We do not even know if you are who you say you are.”
Thankfully, that problem was easily solved.
“Ask the lady. Judith Canmore knows who I am, even if she has ever disapproved of me. In fact, I carry a letter to her from my sister, which I may consider giving her if she does not cause us any further trouble.”
Judith’s gray eyes smoldered, then flashed with fire that would have burned him to cinders had it been real.
“He is who he says,” she said. “Corwin of Lenvil, vassal to Gerard of Wilmont, one of the most powerful barons in the kingdom, and one of the most fair and kind, andmost undeserving of disloyalty! Why, Corwin? How can you betray the man who has given you so much?”
He almost winced at her condemnation, but then, he wasn’t truly betraying Gerard. Never would.
“Given? Never. What land and privileges he granted me, I earned with the sweat of my brow and the edge of my sword. In truth, ‘tis he who should be earning privileges at my hand. His castle sits on land once ruled by my forefathers. I would have it back.”
Not quite true, but the band needn’t know that.
“Greed?” Judith shouted. “You would turn on a decent man for his land? What of your sister? Would’you betray her, too?”
Now that truly hurt-which was probably why she’d tossed it in his face. Judith would use every argument she could muster to convince him of his folly, persuade him to change his mind.
“‘Tis a naive notion that these men rebel for a mere ideal. In part, mayhap, but each looks for a reward at battle’s end. With an entire kingdom to disperse to those who serve well, the rewards.will be rich indeed. As for Ardith, she can do as she pleases, go to Normandy with Gerard or remain with me, so long as I am master of Wilmont.”
“I cannot promise you so grand a reward,” Thurkill said.
Finally, Thurkill had begun to yield.
The rebel’s hair was becoming wet with sweat, making Corwin’s grip less secure. He knew he must gain the band’s acceptance soon, before the tide turned against him or he lost the advantage of holding Thurkill helpless.
“Nay, you cannot. Only the man you would make king can do so, and only if you win the battle. ‘Tis to him I would pledge my sword for the price I ask. Believe me, Thurkill, you would much prefer to have me as friend than a foe. What say you?”
“If I say nay?”
“Then you die by my dagger, and your companions die by my sword. I am Wilmont trained. Never doubt that I could take them on and win.”
“And Lady Judith?”
All day long Corwin had enjoyed ignoble but tantalizing visions of having Judith alone, beholden to him for her rescue, in need of him for protection and guidance back to safety. The concern in Thurkill’s question prevented any glib answer, however.
“I would take her back to Romsey. I imagine, by now, a reward has been offered for her safe return.”
“I will see you hung by your thumbs from the beams of the refectory,” Judith threatened. “Flogged to within a beetle’s breath of your life for your insults. Then drawn, quartered and hanged for treason!”
He wouldn’t put it past her to try. He eased the dagger away from Thurkill’s throat, far enough to let the man relax, but not far enough to remove the threat of a slit throat.
“Bloodthirsty imp,” he remarked to Thurkill. “Are you sure we want her as our queen?”
“Aye.” Thurkill’s tension eased. He smiled slightly. “A right rare one, she is. She will make a grand mate for our lord, give him strong, healthy sons.”
“The beast can get his unholy offspring on some other woman,” Judith said firmly. “‘Twill not be by me, I vow.”
Corwin pushed aside a flash of anger that Judith had been chosen as a mate for an upstart rebel lord, much as one would choose a broodmare, albeit a royal broodmare. But then, she wouldn’t suffer the obscenity. As soon as he had the information he wanted, he and Judith would leave the band.
“Have we reached an accord, Thurkill?”
“Our cause can use men with your training. If you truly wish to join us, I would be a fool to say you nay.”
“Say me nay and you die.”
“A consideration, but of little import. Sheath your dagger, Corwin of Lenvil.”
The moment of win or lose had come. All depended upon Thurkill’s decision.Give some, gain some-with luck. Corwin released his captive’s hair, backed up a step and tucked his dagger beneath his belt-close to hand.
Thurkill rose from the log and shook away his tension. The other men started to get to their feet. Thurkill raised a staying hand, which his men obeyed.
With narrowed eyes, Thurkill proclaimed, “You may travel with us, but will be guarded closely. ‘Tis for our lord to decide your worthiness.”
Corwin didn’t let his relief show. He wanted to ask the lord’s name and whereabouts, but held back. He’d thoroughly embarrassed Thurkill, could understand the man’s ire and wounded pride. Now was not the time to push for answers.
“Then I will fetch my mount and hobble him near the other horses.”
“Duncan will go with you.”
Judith sat on the boulder and put her face in her hands. If she cried, he couldn’t see or hear her sorrow. ‘Twas his fault she hid behind her hands.
Slowly, Corwin unfastened and lowered the flap of chain mail that protected his neck and throat, then reached beneath to fetch Ardith’s letter. A small consolation, maybe, but reading it might take Judith’s mind from her troubles for a little while.
Corwin held up the piece of parchment and nodded toward Judith. “May I?” he asked Thurkill.
“Aye, but have a care she does not scratch your eyes out. I think she now hates you more than she hates us.”
A wise and likely true observation. Corwin crossed the clearing and stopped before Judith. Her eyes were red rimmed and wet, but more with anger than misery. She snatched the letter from his fingers, then, with a mere look, consigned him to the darkest depths of the netherworld.
He couldn’t think of anything to say that would ease her mind and not give himself away. As she unfolded the letter, he turned to leave her.
“Corwin!” she called after him.
He looked back.
Her hands were shaking. “Your sister writes of her kind and generous brother,” she said in the Norman French that Ardith had probably used in the letter. “You will break her heart if you persist in your extreme folly.”
Having had her say, she went back to reading. Knowing there was nothing he could do to ease her mind until after he won the confidence of the rebel band, he resumed walking toward Thurkill.
“What did she say?” the man asked gruffly.
Thurkill, or any of the others by the looks of them, hadn’t understood the Norman French. That might prove useful.
“You are right, Thurkill. She hates me more than you. By the by, you will need to set a guard tonight. The nuns were intent on returning to the abbey to alert the sheriff.”
Thurkill scoffed. “I doubt he could find us so soon.”
So did Corwin, but he wasn’t about to take the chance. Now that he’d set on this course, he wanted no interference.
“That depends upon how quickly the sheriff received the news,” Corwin said, and glanced back at Judith. “And any man who brings her back will likely receive a hefty reward. I intended to brave the night, if necessary, to find her. The sheriff might, too.”
Chapter Four (#ulink_cf137fcf-7f47-5ab9-a26e-689935585529)
Judith longed for the comfort of a thin straw mattress on a small cot, within the confines of her meager nun’s cell. No matter which way she twisted or turned, she couldn’t convince her body that the ground didn’t become harder or the night air less chilled.
Neither would her worry over what was to come ease, nor her disappointment in Corwin’s betrayal lessen.
Giving up on sleep, Judith sat up and wrapped the rough woolen blanket-which Thurkill had presented to her as if it were a feather-filled coverlet-more tightly around her shoulders. Scattered about the campsite, the men slept. All but Duncan, who roamed the forest to watch for the sheriff who Judith doubted would come tonight. The best she could hope for was that Duncan might awaken a hungry bear so she might be rid of the most belligerent of her captors.
She rose and stretched, then took two slow steps in an effort to bring some feeling back into her legs.
“Going somewhere, my lady?” Corwin asked softlyfrom where he’d bedded down several yards to her left. She saw no more of him than the bulk of his body lying on the ground at the edge of the clearing.
Earlier, she’d thought about stealing a horse and risking an escape. Wandering about in the dead of night in unfamiliar surroundings, however, didn’t seem a good plan. She would only become hopelessly lost and might come upon the hungry bear she wished on Duncan.
Judith ignored Corwin’s question to pose one of her own, not bothering to hide her disgust. “Does your guilt over betraying Gerard disturb your sleep?”
Corwin propped himself up on an elbow. “Nay, merely training. A soldier learns to sleep where and when he can, and then with one ear open and one hand upon his sword. I heard you get up.”
“These other men are soldiers and they do not stir.”
“Nay, they do not. They must trust Duncan to raise an alarm if the need arises. I do not have their confidence in him, so I listen for anything that might threaten our safety.”
“Including me?”
With a low, rumbling laugh, he answered, “Especially you. Should you have a dagger hidden beneath your robe you might be tempted to slit our throats while we slept. Come toward me a few steps and you will find a patch of long grass that will make a more comfortable resting place than the one you chose.”
Judith hesitated to move any closer to Corwin, a man who she should consider more her enemy than the rebels. Though she’d heard his reasons for wanting to join the rebellion, she didn’t understand how he could so easily turn traitor. When this hopeless scheme failed-and it would come to grief as earlier Saxon rebellions had-Corwin would receive the same harsh punishment as the others.
If he lived through the battles. Or unless she convinced him to turn from this path he’d unwisely chosen.
Maybe some unresolved dispute between Corwin and Gerard had clouded Corwin’s judgment, making him susceptible to a rash decision to seek a means of revenge. But by hurting Gerard, Corwin also hurt Ardith, and. Judith knew he genuinely cared for his sister.
Judith thought back to the day they’d met. Corwin’s concern for Ardith had been very apparent, and part of the reason Judith had been so drawn to him. True, she’d experienced a female’s reaction to a handsome, well-puttogether male. A woman couldn’t possibly look on Corwin without noticing the brilliant blue of his eyes, the angled perfection of his strong chin or the seductive tilt of his smile.
His looks had captured her attention. His tender concern for Ardith had touched her heart. As much as her head said to be wary, her heart longed for another glimpse of the man he’d been then, the man Judith prayed Corwin could still be.
‘Twas a practical thing she hoped for. If she could sway Corwin, he might aid her escape. Deep down, she admitted she wanted Corwin back as he had been for her own sake, too. She simply couldn’t have so lacked in judgment as to have thought fondly of a man capable of villainy.
Slowly, she moved toward Corwin. His face became more visible and the shape of his prone body more pronounced as she drew nearer. No blanket covered his chain mail. His broadsword lay before him, just beyond his longfingered hand, within easy reach.
He raised that hand and pointed to a spot a mere few feet from him. “Your royal bower awaits you, my lady.”
Royal bower, indeed. His tone conveyed humor, as if he teased her over the rebels’ plan to make her a queen. Judith withheld a rebuke. Any hope of swaying Corwin might depend upon how well the two of them got along. At one time she’d harbored no doubts they: could deal with each other quite well. Now she wasn’t so sure, but needed to try.
She settled onto the grass, noting the truth of hisassertion of greater comfort. “My thanks, Corwin, for your thoughtfulness in pointing it out to me.”
“‘Tis not thoughtfulness but self-defense. Tomorrow will be a long day, if I guess correctly. I will get no sleep if your restlessness keeps me awake.”
Again she bristled. “How can any day possibly be longer than today?”
“Thurkillwill want to put as much distance between him and the sheriff of Hampshire as possible. We will need to take to the road, steal you a horse-”
“Steal? But that is unlawful,” she said, hearing the lack of sense in her statement as soon as the words left her lips. Of course the brigands would steal a horse from its owner, just as they’d stolen her from the abbey.
“—and find you a different gown to wear,” he continued. “You stand out rather sorely garbed in a nun’s robe. Anyone who sees you will notice and question your presence in the band.”
Corwin didn’t look as if he belonged with the band, ei ther. “And you do not stand out sorely in your chain mail? All the others wear leather hauberks.”
He shrugged a shoulder. “People will see me merely as the leader of a group of soldiers, where you look more the bedraggled waif.”
She’d given no thought all day to how she looked, only how miserable she felt. No doubt she appeared untidy, mayhap thoroughly mussed, and she didn’t appreciate Corwin saying so. The man truly possessed no manners at all.
Judith took a deep breath to keep her calm. She, who took pride in remaining calm when faced with adversity, had lost her composure far too often today. Few people affected her so. Like Abbess Christina, when the nun pushed her beyond all patience. Now Corwin, who prodded her temper nearly beyond endurance.
But then, Corwin had no reason to treat her kindly, and the fault lay with her. Judith knew she’d been insufferably rude on their last parting. Though she’d regretted her actions afterward, she’d done nothing to correct the wrong. If their parting had been less harsh, would he now feel obligated to rescue her instead of joining the rebels?
No matter how Corwin felt or what he did, she’d been given the chance to apologize, if only to ease her own conscience.
Corwin had lain back down. Was he still awake?
“Corwin?”
“Hmm?”
Judith mustered her courage. Living among nuns allowed for few opportunities to do something she needed to apologize for, so she was sorely out of the habit. Certes, she also now owed a contrite apology to the abbess, so maybe practicing on Corwin wasn’t such a bad idea.
“When last we met,” she said, “I fear I was not as gracious as I might have been.”
A weak beginning, and she knew it. To her own ears she sounded stiff and insincere. In the deepening silence she sought stronger words, but before she could continue, he rejoined.
“Truly? I did not notice.”
His casual words didn’t ring true. She’d hurt him, or at least dented his pride.
“You did not notice that when we last crossed paths in the abbey’s passageway, I ignored your presence?”
“I must have been occupied with more important matters. ‘Tis late, Judith. Go to sleep.”
Not yet. She’d come this far, and the man would hear she was sorry whether he wanted to or not.
“When I informed Queen Matilda of your arrival, I offered to keep you company while Ardith spoke with Sister Bernadette. Matilda reminded me of my duty to my family, and bade me take care I not become too.friendly with a man not of my rank. I fear that in my inexperience with such matters I took her words to heart and treated you harshly. I merely wanted you to know I regret we parted on bad terms.”
He was silent for a long time: “You make too much of the matter, Judith. We who serve have come to expect no less than harsh treatment from those who place themselves above us-unless, of course, that person seeks a favor.”
“I ask no favor.”
