By Queen's Grace (13 page)

‘Twas all she’d dreamed of and more. She felt his power-over her body, over her senses. She gave herself to him willingly, completely, knowing he wouldn’t abuse her. Not Corwin. Never Corwin.

She’d been misled. By her elders. By the church. Submitting to a man couldn’t be wrong if he were the right man. A man like Corwin. Her right man. She’d found him, longed to keep him, and promptly brushed aside the contrary thought that she wouldn’t be allowed to.

Then all thought fled as Corwin’s hands moved, skimming over her shoulders and her back, down to cup her backside. Just when she’d recovered from the shock of it, his hands moved again, retreating along their former path but coming higher, to frame her face.

His mouth gentled, then deserted her.

Of course, the kiss must end. Corwin must leave. But it took a long, deep breath and a great amount of willpower for her not to pull him back.

“Have a care,” he whispered.

She couldn’t find the voice to answer, so simply looked deep into his azure eyes and hoped he’d find her agreement there.

“Corwin?” Thurkill’s voice from the bed startled her, making her leap out of Corwin’s arms.

Mon dieu,
she’d forgotten about Thurkill. His eyes were closed. Had they been all along or had he seen?

“What?” Corwin answered.

“Are you thinking?”

Thinking? About what? Corwin wondered, still dazed. Then he remembered. Rebellion within rebellion. Be a king. Marry Judith. He shook his head at the man’s audacity, and
at his own for having probably proved to Thurkill that his feelings for Judith went far beyond attraction to a beautiful woman.

“Aye, I am thinking, Thurkill. Very hard.”

“Thinking about what?” Judith asked, her confusion apparent.

Corwin thought of explaining, but could hear footsteps on the stairway. There wasn’t enough time. And maybe it was best that she didn’t know. Well, ‘twas Thurkill’s ridiculous idea, and he’d brought it up. Let him deal with it.

“Ask Thurkill-later.”

Oswuld entered the chamber, followed by a priest.

“Ruford grows impatient,” Oswuld told him.

“Poor man,” Corwin said, and as he’d hoped, the sarcasm brought a smile to Judith’s face. “I will be back.”

He’d tossed the phrase out to the room in general, but Judith knew Corwin meant to reassure her. She listened to his boots hit the steps and fade away, hoping he’d be back soon. Already she missed him. With a short prayer that Ruford wasn’t so angry at her that Corwin would suffer for it, she turned her attention to her next task.

Oswuld and the priest had crossed to the bed to attend Thurkill. The priest plopped down on the edge crossed himself and bowed his head. Oswuld backed away so he wouldn’t overhear his father’s recitation of sins.

The young man looked at her, his face etched with pain. She motioned to him to follow her out into the hall, knowing nothing she could say right now would ease him. Maybe, however, she could lead his thoughts elsewhere, give him a bit of relief. She left the chamber door cracked open.

“I see you found the priest quickly.”

Oswuld stared at his feet.

“Oswuld, what troubles you?”

He hesitated yet another moment. “The worst sin my father will confess is kidnapping you. Mayhap I should talk to the priest, too.”- Finally, he met her eye. “Both Father and I should ask your forgiveness, my lady.”

Judith had come to like both father and son. Aye, they’d committed a crime and hauled her across England. But the experience hadn’t been all bad. She’d learned much about herself, her strengths and weaknesses, and had even decided that roast rabbit could be a feast. More, she’d found Corwin again.

Of course, if Corwin were not already planning their escape, if she was truly forced to marry Ruford, she might not feel quite so forgiving.

“Both you and your father have become dear to me, Oswuld. ‘Tis not terribly hard to forgive you.”

“My thanks, my lady,” he said, a sad smile touching his mouth. “I must also thank you for bringing Father upstairs.”

“No thanks needed there. I could not bear to have him breathe his last in that foul air.”

“A kindness I am sure Father appreciates. But I also have a task to perform…after. Having him up here will make it easier.”

“What task?”

Oswuld glanced at the stairway. Judith saw Emma making her way up, towels in hand.

“I would rather not say just now, my lady, but when the time comes I believe you will approve.”

She might, simply because she had the feeling that whatever task Oswuld was set on doing, Ruford wouldn’t approve at all.

W
hile the servants swept out the hall, Ruford and the captains had gone out into the bailey and gathered near the stables, a place Corwin wanted to visit soon to check on his and Judith’s horses. He wanted them properly treated and fed. A successful escape might depend upon their speed and stamina.

Ruford glanced at the scabbard at Corwin’s waist, looking for the sword that now lay at the foot of Thurkill’s bed. Satisfied, he said, “Took you long enough.”

Obviously, the man was angry, but angry at Judith or because he’d been kept waiting, Corwin didn’t know.

“I did the ladies the favor of undressing Thurkill and putting him into bed. Surely you cannot object.”

Ruford looked like he wanted to, but instead got to the business at hand. “It seems we are divided, Corwin. Some for you, some against.”

Expecting it, Corwin crossed his arms and ignored all but Ruford. “And you?” he asked.

“I am of two minds. I could certainly use you, but you ask a large reward. Would you settle for less than Wilmont?”

Corwin raised an eyebrow. “Would you settle for less
than England? Come now, Ruford, what is Wilmont compared to it? A small piece, indeed. With me at your side, you stand a better chance of winning the throne.”

“I have an entire army to win me the throne. One man more will make no difference.”

Corwin scoffed. “When I rode through the encampment, I saw no army, only a gathering of men and stacks of weapons. No one practiced with those weapons. All sat idle. ‘Tisno way to prepare for a war. I sense a lack of discipline that would not be tolerated in a Norman holding. When was the last time you called your soldiers into ranks and marched them across a field?”

Ruford’s eyes narrowed. “We are not Normans here, but Saxons. These men will fight hard and long for our cause.”

“They may fight hard, but I warn you, Ruford, they will not fight long if unprepared. The king’s troops will slaughter them. But first they must get to the palace. Let us test them; shall we? Call your men to ranks, with weapon in hand. Let us see if they can march across a field, much less the length of England.”

“I do not need to prove anything to you!”

“Then prove it to yourself. See if this army can truly put you on the throne of England. My guess is they cannot.”

Ruford took the bait. He rounded on his captains. “Have the footmen form ranks in the field south of the keep. We will march them to the woodland.”

The captains looked from one to another. One stepped forward. “My lord, I believe this action unnecessary. The men-”

“Your lord just gave you an order,” Corwin said, halting any argument that might sway Ruford. Too, the soldier in him took offense at a captain arguing at a commander’s order. “Why do you not obey?”

“The men, they will not like—”

“Soldiers do not have to like what they are told to do, they must simply do it,” Corwin stated firmly. “On the field of battle, if Lord Ruford gives you an order to attack, will you say him nay because the men do not like it?”

He’d angered the captains but didn’t care. The soldier in him found the lack of discipline appalling. Never had he seen the like. If he were actually considering joining this rebellion, he would advise Ruford to replace his captains.

“I do not appreciate your interference,” Ruford said as the captains walked away.

Corwin decided to tutor Ruford on the finer points of leading an army. “As commander, you need not justify your order or be forced to give it twice. Once should be sufficient, especially for a king. Shall we watch how it goes?”

Ruford turned on his heel and headed for one of the earthworks. Corwin followed. From atop the work he could see the field and the woodland-and the odd manner in which the men gathered, in separate groups, not as a whole. Corwin could tell which men were true soldiers and which had little training, both from the way they carried their weapons and how they reacted to the captains’ shouted commands to form lines.

One large group of men had apparently decided they need not participate. They stood on the side of the field, chiding their fellows for the walk they were about to take.

“Who are they?” Corwin asked Ruford.

“Knights,” Ruford answered absently, watching the progress on the field.

Corwin hid his shock at learning so many of Ruford’s soldiers would be mounted. “Have they all horses and chain mail?”

“All have mounts, and I expect all will have chain mail before we march.”

It took far too long for the men to form ranks and amble across the field. Long enough for Ruford’s anger to turn to dismay, and for Corwin to accurately count the troops.

Not every man carried a weapon. The lines formed weren’t neat. In a true battle formation the bowmen had to be separated from those with lances or maces. Few men here carried shields.

Still, where Ruford saw disorder, Corwin saw potential. Given direction, if the men possessed a measure of skill with weapons, this group could be a formidable army-not large enough to severely threaten the king’s highly trained forces, but able to create havoc wherever it marched.

Corwin realized he would dearly love to see the horsemen in action. Nearly thirty in number, the mounted soldiers were likely mercenaries. Men skilled with both weapons and the use of horses, mercenaries fought for whoever paid their price. Corwin guessed that Ruford must be paying well to have gathered so many.

Thurkill was right. With proper leadership, with good training, with a cause to fight for. Corwin shook his head at the treasonable thought that he could do what Thurkill suggested. Maybe all that raw ability spread out before him made his instincts itch to take a hand in the army’s formation.

He wouldn’t, of course. Nothing could induce him to betray Gerard or the king. Still, if a man had a mind to, here in the north, with this group of soldiers, a would-be king could make an excellent start.

Corwin didn’t want to be king. True, there were laws he would like to see changed. Plunging the kingdom into chaos seemed an extreme way to go about it, however.

Thurkill’s suggestion to marry Judith and take over this army might well be why Corwin saw potential in Ruford’s army.

Judith didn’t want to be queen. She’d said so often enough. Not that she wouldn’t be a good one. She’d certainly shown a talent for it today-taking charge of Thurkill, bringing Ruford to heel.

Then she’d shown Corwin her true power, that of a woman, in the depth and passion of a too-brief kiss. For the duration of their embrace, the barriers between them had vanished, leaving only a man holding a woman-not a lowly knight kissing a royal heiress.

If not for the impossibly high obstacle of Judith’s royalty, Corwin would pay suit. But even if she cared for him, there was nothing either of them could do to change her heritage, or his.

“How long until they can be ready?” Ruford asked.

“‘Twould depend on how hard you are willing to work them and who commands them,” Corwin said.

Ruford hesitated for only a moment. “If you command them?”

To fight one battle against a Norman baron’s forces, Corwin figured he’d need a month, maybe more, depending on whether or not the soldiers possessed the necessary skill with their weapons. They might never be ready to take on the king’s guard.

“When must they be ready?” Corwin answered.

“A fortnight.”

Corwin shook his head. Impossible. ‘Twould take the first week alone to get them accustomed to answering a call to ranks and to line up in proper order, and the second to begin testing each man with various weapons and working out times for training.

Why a fortnight? Had Ruford set the date for some solid reason or just on a whim?

“You look for a miracle, Ruford. No one could have them ready in so short of time. In a month-perhaps.”

Ruford looked out over the field, where the men began straggling back to their tents. “I have no choice. We march in a fortnight.”

No choice? A chill accompanied the sudden realization that Ruford didn’t act alone. Damn. Corwin should have guessed that earlier.

Ruford had taken over this keep and its stores. He’d used the coin, food and material goods at hand to provide for the men who rallied to his cause. No keep’s stores, depleted from the past winter and awaiting replenishing from the next harvest, could support a large number of men for weeks on end. Food must be coming in from elsewhere.

The stacks of weapons should have made Corwin suspicious right off. The arms didn’t belong to the men, who would keep personal weapons with their other belongings, not piled in a common stack.

And the number of men. Aye, word had spread of the rebellion, but to carefully selected ears only, to keep the possibility of discovery low. Someone of means-or more likely several such persons-supplied Ruford with food, arms and men-some going so far as to send trained soldiers.

Who would dare? Corwin could name several Norman barons who would seize the chance to cause King Henry trouble if their identity remained a secret. Henry wasn’t on the best terms with the Church hierarchy at the moment either, having been threatened with excommunication from Rome over several differences of opinion with the pope. Too, a wealthy merchant, or several, might finance this rebellion to drive prices up to wartime levels. Even a foreign kingwouldn’t be adverse to upsetting England’s finances.

The possibilities were endless, and all disturbing. So was the question of whether or not Ruford’s conspirators expected the rebellion to succeed, or just cause a disturbance
to irritate Henry-or distract the king while some other piece of vital government business was going on.

Did Ruford expect to succeed? Was the rebellion his idea or had he been talked into it? Was he a willing participant in a farce, or being duped by those who supported him?

And if the whole rebellion turned out to be no more than a ploy to irritate the king, then why kidnap Judith and risk angering two royal houses, both of England and Scotland?

Corwin bit back the multitude of questions, mostly because he wasn’t sure which to ask first. Maybe after he’d had a chance to sort things through, observe the camp and men more closely, he’d be better prepared.

“I will do what I can,” he finally told Ruford. “You will have to have a talk with your captains. I want no one questioning my orders or hesitating to carry them out.”

Judith stared out the window at the two men coming toward the keep-one fair-haired, one dark. They were deep in conversation. Apparently, Ruford had decided in Corwin’s favor. The two had stood side by side on the earthwork, observing a practice march-which had revealed a lack of order on the soldiers’ part. They certainly lacked the snap and polish of any royal guards.

“A handsome devil, is he not?” Emma said with a sigh. “And to think you two will soon be wed.”

Judith ignored Emma’s reference to a wedding that wouldn’t happen. To either man.

Both Corwin and Ruford were handsome, but only one appealed to her. Corwin, with his dark hair and blue eyes, the power in his kiss and the gentleness in his touch. Aye, Corwin appealed, with the lure of a calm harbor to a stormtossed ship.

Judith chided her faulty comparison. She felt anything but calm whenever Corwin came near. If her observation
was correct, Corwin would come up the stairs shortly, to fetch his sword.

“‘Twas a truly pitiful display,” she heard Oswuld tell Thurkill. “‘Tis a wonder they made it across the field.”

“Does Ruford accept Corwin?” Thurkill asked his son.

“Corwin stood by Ruford’s side the whole time. I would think that a good sign.”

“A good sign indeed. Corwin will know how to prepare the troops, if only Ruford will allow him to.”

Judith didn’t disabuse Thurkill of his fantasy of Corwin training Ruford’s army. Corwin wouldn’t be preparing troops, but preparing to escape.

She turned away from the window. “Corwin and Ruford are on their way back to the keep. If all is well, Corwin will be here soon to collect his sword.”

Thurkill gave Oswuld a wry smile. “Then we shall see how things truly stand, shall we not?”

Oswuld winked at Thurkill. “Aye, Father, that we shall.”

Servants and well-wishers had drifted in and out of the room all afternoon, giving Judith no privacy to question either father or son about all of the secrets being hinted at and not explained. After Corwin fetched his sword, she would set Emma to some task in the hall and have answers from these two.

Through the open chamber door, she heard footsteps on the stairway. Men’s voices. Corwin and Ruford.

Ruford entered the room ahead of Corwin. Both men walked straight to the bed, Ruford to the head, Corwin to the foot.

“How fare you, Thurkill?” Ruford asked.

Judith paid little heed to the answer. With a satisfied gleam in his eye, Corwin slowly picked up his sword, his hand wrapped firmly, lovingly around the hilt. He turned
the blade over as if inspecting it for damage, then slid it into the scabbard at his waist. She could almost feel his relief, so great was her own.

“Ah, that is good to hear,” Ruford commented. “I must also give you thanks for having the foresight to bring Corwin to us. His experience in the king’s service will prove invaluable.”

“As will his skill with a sword,” Thurkill said. “I thought he might be of best use in the practice yard.”

“Aye, there, too,” Ruford said, sparing a glance for Corwin. “He has already pointed out problems of which I was unaware. They will be corrected with due haste.”

Judith wondered at Ruford’s manner. One would think he’d be embarrassed by his army’s lack of grace in the field. He didn’t seem uncomfortable. Nor did he appear upset that Corwin had obviously told him that his army was less than perfect, suggesting improvements, just as she’d implied that he ran a less than tidy hall by ordering the rushes changed. Maybe the man now saw all of this as helpful, but she doubted it. She mistrusted Ruford’s gracious mood.

Thurkill turned his head to smile upon Corwin. “I knew from the first he could lead this army to victory. I can die easy now, knowing that the crown of England will soon sit upon a Saxon head.”