A VOW TO KEEP (The Vengeance Trilogy) (7 page)

“How does it feel to hold a lady beyond compare in your arms?” He matched his stride to Royce’s.

Royce wondered what Hugh would say if he told him of the path of his desirous thoughts. He prudently decided not to. Nor would he tell him of the jolt he felt each time he touched her. He was not an impulsive man, but something about the lady made him wish he was.

Hugh was more brother than friend and one of the few who knew of Royce’s vow. He’d met Hugh when they were both newly knighted. They’d found they worked well together; their strengths and weaknesses complemented each other. Though Hugh was the elder, ’twas Royce who was the leader. He arranged to sell their services for a high premium for short periods of time as they traveled. They’d slowly built their reputation and could now name their price.

The years they’d spent in Normandy had been fruitful in many ways. He’d accumulated nearly enough wealth to rebuild what his uncle had used and destroyed from his family’s holding. But more importantly, he’d met Lord Blackwell. In him, Royce had found both an employer and a friend.

With the help of Blackwell and Hugh, he’d already put his plans for vengeance into motion. Soon his uncle would feel some of the pain Royce had felt ever since that night long ago when his uncle had betrayed his entire family.

In addition to that, he and Blackwell had gained valuable information regarding the group of barons that Tegmont was involved with who were disgruntled with King Henry.

Henry III had inherited the crown at the tender age of nine. The monarchy had been in the capable hands of regents, including William the Marshall, God rest his soul, until Henry reached five and twenty. During that time, all had been well. But after that, Henry had infuriated many barons by granting favors and appointments to foreigners rather than to the English nobility. Just over a score ago, a baronial revolt had erupted. Although Henry had restored order, he continued to surround himself with French nobility, including relatives of his wife, Eleanor of Provence and his own Poitevin half brothers, and therefore, the unrest continued.

While Royce could understand the unhappiness of the English barons with their king, England could not afford to be torn apart by civil war. That would make the country vulnerable to its enemies.

“What happened to your cheek?” Hugh stood beside Royce as his horse drank its fill from the small stream. He peered closer yet. “That’s a nasty scratch.”

Royce looked at him to determine if he was being deliberately obtuse. “The lady is more resourceful than she looks.”

“Really?” From Hugh’s tone, he apparently found the idea fascinating and continued to examine the mark with great interest.

“Do you mind?”

“Humph.” Hugh pursed his lips. “Didn’t she want to accompany you? Do you think she desires the match with Tegmont? Surely she wants to know what her grandfather has to say.”

“Aye, she seems eager to meet with him, but she wanted to return to the manor to fetch her servants. Apparently she fears for their safety as her father might take his anger out on them when he realizes she’s disappeared. I had a difficult time convincing her to come with me.” Royce tethered his horse nearby. “As for whether or not she wants the match, I cannot say. She has not advised me of that. She did tell me she sent a message to Northe Castle.”

“There was no message.”

“She insists there was. One more mystery for us to solve.” Royce sniffed the air in appreciation. Whatever Kenneth had cooking in that pot smelled marvelous. “Have there been any more raids?”

“Nay. It has been quiet since you left. Too quiet. ’Tis why I took some of the men and came looking for you.”

Royce smiled. “Your concern for me is touching.”

“It wasn’t your ugly face I worried about, although now I can see I should’ve worried.” He eyed Royce’s face yet again then sobered. “It wouldn’t do for us to allow harm to come to the lady.”

“Nay.” Against his will and certainly against his better judgment, Royce’s gaze found Lady Alyna.

She walked with more ease than before, her stiffness only slightly evident now. Nicholas trotted by her side, then stopped to pick up a stick. The pair made their way over to where Kenneth stood by the fire. Alyna spoke to him, and the cook beamed with pride. He wasted no time dishing up what looked like stew into a wooden bowl. He placed a chunk of bread on top of it and handed it to her with a smile bright enough to light the darkest cave. Then he gave a smaller portion to Nicholas, squatting down to look the boy in the eye.

Royce knew if he wasn’t more careful, the lady would have him grinning like an idiot and jumping to do her bidding as well. He shook his head at his fanciful thoughts.

“We’d best get our meal afore Kenneth forgets to save some for us,” Hugh said. He scowled at Kenneth as though the man had already committed the sin.

***

Royce had to admit he did feel much better with a full stomach. But he didn’t say it aloud. Of late, he’d found it more and more difficult to endure time spent away from the comforts of a warm bed and a good meal. Truth be told, he was weary of fighting, weary of traveling, and weary of waiting. He was more than ready to lay claim to what was his by right and would soon be by might.

Before long, they were back on the horses. Uneasiness filled him, but he was uncertain as to why. The sooner they arrived at Northe Castle, and he placed Lady Alyna safely into Lord Blackwell’s hands, the happier he’d be. The lady was a distraction he did not need.

He pushed the group as hard as he dared. Guilt shot through him as Alyna sighed and shifted restlessly yet again. The boy had ridden with them a short while, then had agreed to ride with Hugh. It hadn’t taken long for the child to fall asleep in Hugh’s arms.

Royce knew Alyna was tired and sore. And he also knew that if he slowed the pace or better yet, stopped for the night, it would be much easier on her, but something drove him on.

Hugh looked at him more than once with a question in his eyes, but had refrained from voicing his opinion.

Just before dusk, Royce called a halt at the edge of a clearing underneath a gnarled oak, pleased with their progress. They would easily arrive at Northe Castle by midday on the morrow. Hugh, with the help of Nicholas, directed the men to set up camp, leaving Royce to assist Alyna.

He slid off his horse, aware of how he must smell, a combination of sweat and horse. He brushed aside his sudden self-consciousness and reached for Alyna.

She shook her head.

Royce paused, puzzled. “You don’t wish to dismount, my lady?”

“I don’t think I can,” she said, her expression doubtful. “I’ve tried to shift my legs, but they won’t budge.”

Angry with himself for pushing her so hard, he put his hands upon her waist. “I’ll move slowly and won’t let you go until you tell me to.”

“Promise?”

A surge of possessiveness shot through Royce, taking him by surprise. He’d never thought he desired to hear such a request from a woman’s lips. It was unfortunate she didn’t mean it the way he wished. He held her gaze, those familiar amber eyes reminding him of his duty to her grandfather. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Embarrassed, Alyna lowered her gaze. Why had she asked such a thing? He must think her an idiot. She put her hands on his shoulders, and he eased her off the horse. Sharp pains shot through her legs and hips. She gritted her teeth until the hurt eased. Royce watched her expression closely, so she tried to hide her anguish as best she could.

“Better?”

She nodded, not certain she could yet speak. Unfortunately, he took her agreement as permission to set her on her feet. She sucked in her breath at the pain, certain someone jabbed red-hot pokers into her thighs.

Royce immediately lifted her so she didn’t bear all of her weight. Then slowly, he released her. “How is that?”

“Good. My thanks, sir.” Now, if she could just get him to go away until she had a chance to try to actually move her legs, she’d be much happier. No need to embarrass herself any further. “I’ll walk around a bit to ease the stiffness.”

His gray eyes still intent on her face, he moved to her side and kept one hand about her waist, prepared to accompany her.

“I’ll be fine if you’ve other things that require your attention.” She gave him a smile and a wave of her hand to encourage him to be on his way. To prove her steadiness, she took a small step and found the pain had already eased. A few more steps and his arm no longer supported her. That was both a relief and a disappointment.

She closed her eyes, annoyed with herself. This handsome knight had caused her such fright and worry, yet somehow she admired him, liked him even. In truth, she was starting to depend on him. While he’d shown her nothing but kindness since they’d left Montvue, she needed to remember what he was capable of–he’d pushed aside her wishes and put his own first when he’d taken her from home. He was a stranger and his kindness to her and Nicholas was no reason to trust him.

Anger bubbled forth and she looked over her shoulder at him to find him watching her, an odd expression on his face.

Unable to stop herself, she said, “You may think you know what’s best for others, but the day will come when someone will insist their way is right and you’ll be powerless to stop them.”

She turned away to look for Nicholas, pleased that for once she’d spoken her mind.

CHAPTER FOUR

“A draught made of mullein can aid ox suffering

from coughs. The difficulty lies in getting

the stubborn creatures to take it.”

Lady Catherine’s Herbal Journal

Lord Tegmont drank deeply of the cool amber ale, the finest he’d ever tasted and far different than the rot served at his own table.

His arse was cradled by a chair, the cushion embroidered with gold thread, nothing like the hard pine bench at his keep.

Ornate tapestries draped the walls of the great hall along with a fine display of weaponry that told all who entered of Lord Stanwick’s wealth. Even the servants’ clothing was nicer than the ragged ones his wore.

Wealth changed everything for a man–every moment of a lord’s day and night. If this meeting went well, soon he’d experience that for himself.

“Henry’s got to go and soon,” Lord Stanwick demanded as he slammed his cup to the table, splashing the ale.

Tegmont hid a smile as he set his cup down with care, not wanting to waste it. Already it seemed the lords here were in agreement and willing to do more than simply talk about it.

“He wastes the taxes we pay on his damned Poitevin relatives,” Lord Cummins said.

“England needs his attention and his money,” Tegmont added. “If he’d award some of the barons on his own shores who deserve it, our country would be all the stronger.”

“But how do we get rid of Henry?” Cummings asked, always the practical one. “A war is the last thing England needs.”

“True,” Lord Markett agreed, the most cautious of the group. “The last revolt was far from successful.”

The momentum of the conversation died. Silence reigned as the four men at the table eyed each other warily.

Tegmont waited, his nerves stretched taut, but no one stepped forward with a plan. He didn’t want to be the instigator in case things went awry yet it seemed he had no choice.

“Mayhap those barons loyal to Henry could be convinced to change their mind,” Tegmont suggested, as though the idea had just come to him.

“How?” Cummins asked, his bushy brows drawn together.

“If trouble should befall them, they’d see things differently,” Tegmont said, hoping his comment would provide one of the other lords with an idea.

“Speak plainly, Tegmont,” Stanwick insisted. “What do you mean?”

Realizing subtly was getting him nowhere, Tegmont leaned forward and lowered his voice. “We eliminate them, one by one, starting with Pimbroke.”

Markett shifted in his chair, obviously uncomfortable at the idea.

Stanwick slammed his fist on the table. “Brilliant. When they realize Henry cannot protect them, they’ll see things our way.”