Table of Contents

Cover Page

Excerpt

Dear Reader

Title Page

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Copyright

He hadn’t meant to start her tears flowing,

truly had no idea for which reason she cried-she had several. Faced with her tears, he could do nothing but take her in his arms until the sobs subsided.

Longing, deep and intense, washed through him like an ocean wave, threatening to pull him under. He could not succumb. Judith was far too upset, too vulnerable. Even knowing it, he wanted to kiss her tears away, take her to another place where no pain existed, only ecstasy. Duty battled with desire. His wish to comfort argued with his selfish need.

“I truly hate your chain mail,” she said. “You keep yourself encased in cold metal.

” “Right now you should be thankful for it. “Tis all that keeps you safe from me.”

“What if I do not wish to be safe from you…?”

Dear Reader,

What a perfect time to celebrate history-the eve of a new century. This month we’re featuring four terrific romances with awe-inspiring heroes and heroines from days gone by that you’ll want to take with you into thenext century!

Corwin of Lenvil, a protective Saxon knight, is one of those characters. He’s the handsome hero in Shari Anton’s exciting new medieval novel,By Queen’s Grace, which is the sequel toBy King’s Decree. Corwin infiltrates a rebel camp in order to rescue a kidnapped royal maiden who long ago broke his heart. There’s passion and danger at every turn as the lovely Judith begins to trust in-and fall in love with-Corwin.

InThe Lady and the Outlaw by DeLoras Scott, the unforgettable, English-bred Antoinette Huntington has a romantic run-in with a rugged outlaw on a train headed to Arizσna Territory. In Suzanne Barclay’s new medieval tale,The Champion, knight Simon of Blackstone will leave you breathless when he returns from the Crusades to right past wrongs. In doing so, he rekindles a love that was lost but not forgotten…

Wolf Heart is the fascinating, timeless hero fromShawnee Bride by Elizabeth Lane. He’s a white Shawnee warrior who rescues a young woman from certain death, yet must make her his captive. Can the deep love that grows between them transcend the cultural barriers?

Enjoy! And come back again next month for four more choices of the best in historical romance.

Happy holidays,

Tracy Farrell

Senior Editor

By
Queens’s
Grace
Shari
Anton

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To the members of Wisconsin Romance Writers of America.

Your encouragement and continued support are greatly appreciated.

With special thanks to Carrie Bebris, Susie Just and Leslie Parker, whose opinions and comments I value.

Chapter One

England, 1109

The heron never knew what hit it.

Poised against the bright blue sky, a peregrine falcon stooped and attacked with swift and fatal accuracy, saving its screech at a successful kill until its prey hung limply from sharp talons. From the meadow below, Corwin of Lenvil watched the young huntress’s skill with awe, though not with surprise. Ardith had trained the falcon, and no one in England rivaled his twin sister’s talent with hunting birds.

The game bearers rushed off to fetch the heron, pursuing the dogs that marked where the bird had fallen. The falconer whirled the lure to call the peregrine. Corwin shifted in his saddle to fetch a piece of meat, the falcon’s reward, from his leather pouch.

“I am nearly out of bait, Gerard. Do you think it safe for us to return to the castle yet?” he teased his brotherby-marriage and hunting partner.

Gerard, Norman baron of the vast fief of Wilmont, tossed back his mane of long blond hair and laughed. The falcon perched on Gerard’s thick leather glove flapped her wings in protest of the sharp sound, straining the belled jesses that secured the bird to her master’s arm. The highly trained palfrey on which Gerard sat, however, moved not a muscle.

“Safe? Nay,” Gerard said. “I shudder to think of what Ardith has planned in retribution for not being allowed to hunt with us. Would that I could stay away until nightfall.”

A tempting thought. Corwin couldn’t think of anywhere he’d rather be than out hunting with Gerard, especially when they hunted with falcons-a bird a man of Corwin’s rank had no right to fly. Few Saxons in Norman-ruled England enjoyed the privileges he did, and at times like this Corwin thanked the fates that his overlord had possessed the good sense to fall in love with and marry his twin sister.

Corwin held the tidbit of meat in his gloved fingers, raised his hand high in the air and whistled thrice, inviting the falcon back to her former perch. “I shall do you a great favor, my lord,” he offered. “If I praise this bird to the very heavens, ‘twill sweeten Ardith’s mood so greatly she may forgive you your folly.”

“How good of you, Corwin,” Gerard said wryly.

“My pleasure, my lord.”

Corwin snatched away the meat an instant before the falcon landed, leading with widespread talons. He tensed his arm to accept her weight, swiftly secured the jesses, then gave her the prize she expected. For so fierce a hunter, she took the meat from his fingers gently-a mark of Ardith’s training.

“You might do well to remember that Ardith is none too pleased with you, either,” Gerard chided. “She is not happy that you leave on the morrow after so short a visit. Since your father’s death, you do not come often enough or stay long enough for her liking.”

Since his father’s death several months ago, Corwin’s life had changed, not all for the better. He was now the lord of Lenvil, a prosperous manor that had been in his family for generations. While he enjoyed the running of it, he also chafed, at times, at the loss of the luxury to come and go as he pleased.

“Ardith knows I now have Lenvil to oversee, and I have duties to perform in your service. Besides, she will have Bronwyn here with her until after her babe is born. Our sister will surely be more of a comfort to her than I could be.”

“She understands why you leave, yet it sits hard with her. Mayhap, after the babe is born, you can return to Wilmont for a fortnight or so.”

Corwin heard the command with Gerard’s suggestion, and decided he would be happy to complyafter Ardith gave birth. Until then, he wanted to be as far away from his twin as possible.

The twin link he and Ardith shared could be both a blessing and a curse. It allowed them to feel each other’s pain, and had saved both of their lives over the course of the years. The link had weakened as they became adults, and distance proved a buffer. Still, when Ardith had given birth to her first child, he’dknown, even though he’d been at Lenvil, a full day’s ride away from Wilmont. This time, he would be in the far south of England, hundreds of leagues away.

“You have only to send for me and I will come.”

Gerard nodded slightly, then turned toward the game bearer who approached him.

“My lord, all but one sack are full,” the game bearer announced. “Should one of us return to Wilmont for more?”

Gerard smiled at Corwin. “What say you, Corwin? How long do we wish to delay our return?”

“I say we had best fill the last sack or Ardith will accuse us of being sluggards.” He sighed. “Then I suppose we should go back. I still have several things to do before I leave on the morn.”

Twice more they unleashed their falcons. Gerard’s took down another heron. Corwin claimed the better prize of a swan. He hated to see the hunt end, but knew it must. Along with Gerard, Corwin hooded his falcon and turned his palfrey toward Wilmont.

The gates stood open, as was usual during daylight hours, allowing the hunting party to pass through without hindrance into the bailey. Game bearers headed for the kitchen; stable lads rushed forward to take charge of the horses. Tenants, merchants and servants bustled about the bailey, going about their work or errands.

As Corwin dismounted, he glanced toward the stables, and the four wagons waiting nearby. One had been packed with tents and provisions for his week-long journey; the others would be loaded with planks, shingles-and nails.

On the morn, along with six mounted guards and the wagons’ drivers, he would leave for Cotswold, a manor in southern England near Romsey. In Romsey, he would hire the carpenters necessary to make the improvements Gerard had in mind for the estate. That Gerard had asked him to captain the entourage to Cotswold was a favor to Corwin, giving him an excuse to be far from Wilmont for several weeks. The added responsibility of hiring the carpenters and directing their labors was a mark of Gerard’s trust-a trust Corwin had earned several times over, both as a friend and knight. A trust he’d tested sorely only once, for Ardith’s sake.

“‘Twould seem the loading is nearly completed,” Gerard commented.

“I will inspect them after I see to the falcon,” he said, hoping the wagons passed his inspection. He wanted nothing to go wrong on this journey, not so much as a shifted plank to unbalance a wagon and tip it off the road.

Corwin followed Gerard and the hunting hounds up the outside stairs that led to the stone keep’s second floor, then through the oak doors that opened into the great hall.

The servants had begun to prepare for the noon meal. Trestle tables were being set up in rows down the length of the hall. Soon serving wenches would bring out the bread trenchers upon which to place food and cups to hold ale. Only those who ate at the high table-the lord’s family and guests-would eat off of clay plates and drink wine from goblets. Corwin considered himself honored to take his meals here as family.

Indeed, he felt as at home at Wilmont as at Lenvil. As a boy, he’d spent many months each year at the home of his overlord-had learned to read and write, to skillfully wield a sword and lance, and had become fast friends with Gerard and his brothers.

In Gerard’s wake, Corwin crossed the hall, kicking up the scent of rosemary from the recently changed rushes. At the far end of the hall, beyond the dais, he unwrapped the jesses from his arm and reluctantly returned the falcon to her perch among her fellow hunters.

Corwin ran a finger down the falcon’s softly feathered chest, feeling the taut power in the beautiful, deadly predator. He wanted her as any man who appreciates fine hunting birds would want her.

At Lenvil, Corwin kept several hawks, good hunters all, his favorites being a lovely goshawk and a daring little kestrel. This peregrine would be a pleasure to own, a joy to fly whenever he pleased. Though he’d become a landed knight, a warrior whose skills rivaled nearly all but Gerard’s, a man whose education far surpassed that of most Normans, he wasn’t of noble birth.

An unfair restriction, in his opinion, but one King Henry refused to consider changing. Indeed, the king was most adamant about enforcing the Forest Laws. Poachers weren’t tolerated in the king’s woodlands. Bringing down a deer could mean a hunter’s death. Henry grudgingly allowed his nobles to hunt smaller game. Gerard, thankfully, allowed his landed knights to hunt within the boundaries of their holdings-but held to the restrictions on hunting birds.

Once more Corwin stroked the falcon’s chest, knowing that dwelling on the unfairness of the law served no purpose. There were simply some things he couldn’t have, rights he would never obtain, all because he’d been born to the wrong family.

Gerard interrupted Corwin’s musings. “While you inspect the wagons, I will go up and see how Ardith fares.”

“I fare just fine.” Her voice came from the bottom of the stairway that led up to the family chambers.

For Corwin, looking at his well-loved sister was almost like looking into a silvered glass. Though his hair was colored a more earthy shade of brown than hers, they shared the same azure-blue eyes. In a generously cut gown of deep blue, having left off her veil and circlet to allow her plaited hair to swing behind her, Ardith waddled toward him.

“Since the two of you went off hunting and left me here on my own,” she said in a disgruntled tone, “I put the time to use by writing a note to Judith. Corwin, would you do me the favor of delivering it?”

Corwin hoped his shock didn’t show as he took the note from Ardith’s hand, wanting to say her nay but unable to come up with a good excuse to deny her request. She wouldn’t understand his reluctance to stop at Romsey Abbey. Or to see her friend Judith.

Only once had Corwin crossed Gerard. Ardith had been desperate to see a midwife-nun at Romsey Abbey and, even while knowing Gerard would be livid, Corwin had taken her. Gerard had been angry, had blustered and handed down assorted punishments. Still, Corwin felt no remorse and would do it all over again if the need arose.

Unfortunately, at Romsey Abbey he’d also met Judith Canmore, a royal heiress, a niece of both Queen Matilda of England and King Alexander of Scotland. Someday she would leave the cloister to marry, but until then served as companion to Matilda whenever the queen made one of her frequent retreats to Romsey. Judith had been kind to Ardith and the two had become friends. Judith’s favor, however, didn’t extend to him.

Well, he didn’t have to put the letter into Judith’s hand, just give it to whoever answered his knock on the abbey’s door.

“‘Twouldbe my pleasure,” Corwin finally answered, forcing a smile.

Ardith answered his smile with a beaming grin. “When you return, you will have to tell me if Judith has changed. By now, I imagine she has grown into a beautiful young woman.”

Three years had passed since their meeting and Judith probably had blossomed from a winsome girl to a beautiful woman, but Corwin was loathe to set eyes on her. The last thing he wanted to do was admire Judith’s soft, dove-gray eyes and shiny, sable-brown hair. Wonder what curves hid beneath her concealing robe. Long to taste the adorable bow of her lips, only to have her turn up her pert royal nose at him-again.

‘Twas one of the few times his lack of rank had been tossed in his face so forcefully, and it wasn’t an experience he cared to relive.

Judith rolled up the sleeves of her black robe, preparing to scrub the pots the nuns had used to cook the noon meal. Her punishment could have been worse, but she knew Abbess Christina chose this particular chore knowing how much Judith disliked it.

The other nuns had finished their after-meal tasks and left the kitchen. All but Sister Mary Margaret, who watched over Judith to ensure a thorough cleansing of the pots.

“Truly, Sister, you need not stay,” Judith said, smiling at the frown on the nun’s age-wrinkled, kindly face. “I can manage on my own.”

“And have the abbess learn that I shirked my duty? I think not. She will haveme scrubbing those pots. What did you do this time?”

Judith slid the first of many pots into the tub of water and began scrubbing, recalling the heated disagreement that had ended with Judith nearly in tears and the abbess red in the face. “I refused the abbess’s entreaty to take the veil.”

“You have done so before without drawing punishment.”

True, but she’d never before been so vehement, or used disrespectful language. “Aye, well, I fear I refused a bit too pointedly and loudly this time.”

“If the queen were here-”

“But she is not, so cannot intercede for me. So, I scrub pots.”

Queen Matilda had been called back to London from her latest retreat at Romsey Abbey, to rule the kingdom while King Henry went off to see to some business or another in Normandy. As always, after one of Matilda’s prolonged visits to the abbey, the abbess again tried to convince Judith to take the veil. Again Judith refused.

Sister Mary Margaret pulled up a stool and eased her short, plump body down on it. “You could do worse than to take the veil, you know. A woman of your rank could move high in the Church.”

For seven years Judith had lived among the nuns at Romsey Abbey and been content for the most part. These days, however, when she knelt down to pray-which happened often in a nun’s day-she prayed for deliverance from another seven years. She shuddered at the thought. Madness would overtake her long before then.

Lately, contentment had been elusive. More often her discontent flared over the simplest things, like the black color of her robe or the lack of a particular seasoning in the stew.

‘Twas time to make another appeal to her family, remind them she’d long ago reached marriageable age. Prod them into rescuing her from her ordeal. Not to her parents-they would bow to any royal edict. Uncle Alexander would only caution patience, if he took note of her plea at all.

Best to seek aid from Aunt Matilda, who might listen, who would best understand her wish to be free of Christina’s heavy-handed persuasion to take the veil. Except it could be months before Matilda returned.

“I have no wish to rise high in the Church,” Judith said, putting the clean pot aside and grabbing the next dirty one. “Christina wants me to take her place as abbess, just as she once tried to convince Matilda to do the same, before Henry came to Matilda’s rescue.”

A rare, small smile graced the nun’s face. “I remember their disputes well. I have since thought that if Matilda had listened to the abbess and accepted, she might have spared herself much heartache.”

Heartache, aye. King Henry wasn’t the most attentive or faithful of husbands. Sweet heaven, the man had at least a dozen bastards scattered about the kingdom. Yet Matilda often said that if she had to do it all over again, she’d make the same decisions.

“Matilda has known heartache, but she dwells on her joys,” Judith said. “Her two children. The king’s trust in her to rule in his stead when he is away. Her ability to fund projects and charitable acts dear to her heart. She enjoys being queen, and I think her a good one. Someday, I should like to do as she does.”

Sister Mary Margaret huffed. “Then you may as well become an abbess. The queen spends more time here than in London, to escape her faithless husband.”

Judith couldn’t argue the point. Matilda retreated to Romsey as often as she could. Yet her marriage wasn’t all bad. Henry was fond of his wife, and beyond his fickle ways, treated her with a measure of respect. Matilda, on the other hand, loved her husband with her whole heart.

Judith never tired of hearing the romantic story of their meeting, of how dashing Prince Henry had visited the abbey with a friend, of how he’d asked to pay his respects to the Saxon princess who resided there. Matilda’s eyes would grow misty when she spoke of Henry’s charm, of how he’d taken her heart with him when he left. Of how he returned, time and again, and finally asked her to be his queen.

Matilda held no illusions about her marriage. She knew it to be an astute move on Henry’s part, uniting the noble houses of England and Scotland. Judith held no illusions, either. Someday her hand would be granted to a man with whom one of the royal houses wished to solidify an alliance. She could only hope for marriage to a man she could not only like but love, and who might love her in return.

“Not all husbands are faithless,” Judith finally said.

“Mayhap not, but most men worthy of a wife of your rank think nothing of keeping a mistress or two. Then the wife becomes unhappy and turns shrewish. Best to avoid the unpleasantness altogether.”

Not all noble marriages turned sour. She had only to look to her friend Ardith, a Saxon lady who’d married Gerard, a powerful Norman baron, and was happy beyond belief. “Could not a woman find happiness in her children?” she asked, citing the Church’s only acceptable excuse for marriage and consummation.

Sister Mary Margaret shook her head. “Mayhap. But to have children, one must submit to a man’s base urges and then give birth. I doubt children are worth suffering the pain of either the consummation or the birthing.” The nun rose from her stool, her face flushed from discussing so worldly a subject. “‘Tis overwarm in here. I believe I shall go out for a breath of air. Keep scrubbing.”

Judith scrubbed, not only to hurry the chore along, but to take her mind off submitting. It didn’t work. It might have if talk of urges and submitting didn’t bring to mind the face of one particular man. The male who had first, and last, aroused her curiosity and stirred her urges.

Corwin of Lenvil.

Sweet heaven, she hadn’t seen Corwin in three years, yet could recall his startling blue eyes, a body wide at the shoulders and narrow at the waist, a smile that warmed her from head to toe.

Maybe, at the age of ten and five, she’d simply been ripe to feel those urges. Maybe she recalled Corwin’s handsome face so vividly because Ardith frequently mentioned him in her letters. Unfortunately, she also remembered him because Corwin had shown her kindness and she’d repaid him with meanness.

Corwin had brought Ardith to Romsey, to see a nun whose skill as a midwife was unequaled. Poor Ardith had been so upset, and Corwin…well, Judith had never seen the like. Imagine a brother who so cared for his sister that he would risk the wrath of a baron to ease her mind.

She’d thought Corwin courageous as well as handsome, and her unfettered interest in the man had been so apparent that Matilda noticed and issued a warning.

“You must not encourage his attention,” Matilda had said. “Corwin is a nice young man, but has neither the rank nor wealth to play suitor to a royal heiress.”

Thoroughly disappointed, Judith had snubbed him the next time she’d seen him. Even now, after all this time, she felt a twinge of remorse for her crass behavior, and a greater twitch of embarrassment for her arrogance in assuming Corwin had given any thought to becoming her suitor.

He certainly hadn’t pursued the matter. He’d never returned to the abbey to see her. Even if he’d tried, Abbess Christina or Queen Matilda would have turned him away.

Still, meeting Corwin had been a good thing. She’d learned for certain she wasn’t suited to be a nun. Not that she’d harbored much doubt before then, but she certainly couldn’t’ imagine any nun experiencing the tingles of awareness she’d felt when near Corwin.

The knowledge that she wasn’t immune to a man’s charm gave her a measure of confidence when arguing with Abbess Christina about taking vows.

Judith grabbed the biggest and heaviest of the iron kettles. She slid it gently into the tub, but managed to create a wave of water that splashed up and soaked the front of her robe.

Frustrated, Judith rolled down her sleeves and headed for the courtyard just beyond the kitchen door. High, gray stone walls loomed before her, blocking out nearly all of the sunshine that struggled to lightthe small courtyard. Sister Mary Margaret sat on one of the benches, her eyes closed. Other nuns, also silent, were scattered about on others. A few walked about slowly, talking quietly to companions, making hardly a rustle in the never-ending peace.

No male ever intruded on this inner courtyard, not even the traveling priest who would say Mass in the abbey’s chapel on the morn. Joy and laughter weren’t allowed entry, either. Only when Matilda was in residence, and then only in the privacy of the queen’s chamber could Judith laugh without censure.

Many of the nuns, like Sister Mary Margaret, had chosen this life and were content. But there was unhappiness here, too, among the daughters of noble houses who’d been given to the Church as children and had no hope of escape. The thought of being trapped here forever. Judith shook off the dire thought, knowing it would never happen. Someday she would leave this place, and doubted she would ever return. If she did, it wouldn’t be by choice.

‘Twas the quiet-the endless drone of days without change or color or laughter-that was driving her witless, she decided. That and the ceaseless pressure from the abbess. ‘Twas beyond time to get out, to end these useless bouts of self-pity, to stop waiting for a prince to come to Romsey Abbey as Prince Henry had come for Matilda. Maybe ‘twas time she went in search of her own prince.

With that intriguing thought. in mind, Judith returned to the kitchen, rolled up her sleeves and went back to her pots.

If her fate in this world was to marry a high-ranking noble, then the best chance to meet her future husband was at court. If she wrote to Matilda and asked if she could come, would her aunt allow it? Perhaps. Judith had been to court before, though not in a long time. The prospect brightened her mood.

Getting such a letter out of the abbey would prove a challenge. The abbess would throw a fit if she learned of Judith’s plotting. Maybe the visiting priest would be willing to deliver her letter, providing he was headed toward London.

Even if she didn’t find her very own prince at court, once there, if she begged the queen’s grace, she might be able to stay and not return to Romsey Abbey.

And she would never, ever, be forced to scrub another pot.

Chapter Two

The crystal blue sky and early summer sun had called hard to Judith. Tagging along on an outing to gather medicinal plants, to escape the abbey’s gloom for a morning, had seemed such a good idea. Until now.

Judith held back a strong curse directed both at the ruffian intent on kidnapping her and at herself for putting a group of innocent nuns in danger. If she’d remained in her cell, patiently waiting for an answer from Matilda, she wouldn’t now be in this dire fix.

From atop his horse, an older man-obviously the leader-stretched out his hand toward her. “You have naught to fear, Lady Judith, if you will just come quiet like,” he said.

Judith glared at the man, who shifted in his saddle, fully expecting her to relent. He appeared to be about her father’s age, slightly grayed and life worn, sporting a full, shaggy beard. A warrior still, by the hard-muscled look of him. A Saxon, by the sound of him.

Several paces down the road, two young men, also mounted on fine steeds, held Sister Mary Margaret and four other nuns-who huddled together and prayed for deliverance-at bay.

If she fought, if she ran, would the ruffians harm her companions? Judith didn’t think so. The men risked forfeiting their immortal souls if they harmed the nuns. Besides, ‘twas she the brigands had come for. They’d singled her out, knowing her identity.

Sweet heaven, she’d been foolish to put herself at risk. She’d been warned of the dangers a royal heiress faced from those who would use her for their own gain. But she’d been outside of the abbey walls many times over the past years and nothing untoward had ever happened.

“What do you want of me?” she asked, her voice amazingly steady considering how her hands shook, hidden within the sleeves of her robe.

To her surprise the ruffian smiled at her. Almost tenderly.

“You have a destiny to fulfill, lass,” he said. “We have not the time for explanations, but know that you will want for no comfort or proper deference.”

Judith summoned every ounce of royal blood in her veins and tilted her chin higher. “‘Tis a strange deference you show me, brigand. If you truly wish to give me my due, be gone!”

His smile disappeared. “I cannot, my lady. I have my orders. ‘Tis for you to decide to come quietly or by force.”

“By whose orders?”

“My lord’s, soon to be yours, too.” He stretched out a hand. “Come, my lady. We must be off.”

So, some noble thought to force her into marriage to raise his standing at court, did he? ‘Twas not an unheard-of practice. Judith had just never thought it could happen to her. Still wouldn’t happen, if she could help it.

She slid her hands from her sleeves. “You may tell yourlord to go straight to hell!”

She rushed the horse, slapping it hard on the rump. The brigand swore as his mount reared, but Judith didn’t stop to admire her handiwork. Skirts hiked nearly to her knees, she bolted into the woods.

“Oswuld! Duncan! Catch her!” the man called out.

She didn’t give a thought to being quiet about her flight, just to putting distance between herself and the ruffians. Twigs snapped beneath her booted feet. Tree limbs reached out to tear her black robe. Still she ran, leaping over logs and winding among the trees, in a headlong rush for a spot where she knew she could hide in thick underbrush.

If she lost her pursuers, she could later regain the road and make a dash for the safe haven of the abbey, the same abbey she’d been thinking of as a prison for so many weeks now. Amazing how one’s view of the world could change so quickly.

Judith gave a brief thought to her companions and prayed that they would remain safe. She would have the ruffian leader’s head on a pike, hoisted high over the abbey’s door, if he harmed one hair on Sister Mary Margaret’s head.

Over the noise of her panting she could now hear the two men who gave chase. They shouted back and forth at each other, directing the search. One even had the gall to call out to her, suggesting she be sensible and halt ner foolish flight. She couldn’t hope to escape them, he taunted.

Despite the ache in her chest and the pain in her legs, Judith quickened her pace. She ducked under a stout oak branch and headed down the steep hill beyond. She fell at the bottom and landed hard on the forest floor.

“I see her, Duncan! This way!”

Judith scrambled to her feet. She didn’t look back. If she could make it over the next hill, she would be safe.

“To your left, Oswuld! Keep on her heels!”

Up she ran, slipping on the long grass, her entire being focused on the top of the rise. Sheer force of will got her over. Only a few yards off stood her refuge-a fallen oak, nearly hollow, smothered by vines and guarded by brambles. Quickly, ignoring scrapes and pricks, Judith crawled into the sanctuary of the oak and curled up as small as she could.

She buried her face in her robe to muffle her panting. Mercy, she hadn’t run so hard since her early youth. She longed to draw a deep, refreshing breath, but didn’t dare. From the rustling sounds, she could tell that the men had reached the top of the rise.

They came to a halt. Judith could almost feel their searching eyes pass over her hiding place, looking for some sign of her.

“Duncan?”

Silence stretched into eternity.

“This way, I think,” he finally answered. “Aye, look here, a piece of her robe.”

Judith closed her eyes and silently cursed.

The men resumed the chase, thundering past her hiding place in the direction they thought she’d run.

Acute relief trembled through her limbs. She’d done it. She was safe. Her heart still pounded, but it would calm. The fear she’d masked with anger began to abate.

The men would search for a while yet, but unable to find her, would return to their leader and report failure. By then, she’d be well on her way to the abbey. Until she was sure the men were gone, however, she would remain where she was, shooing away the bugs that made the rotted log their home, picking at the burrs that clung to her torn robe.

She wrinkled her nose against the stench of her nest. She could bear it, having no choice.

Abbess Christina was going to have a fit. Over the torn robe. Over her leaving the abbey without permission and then wandering so far away. Punishment, this time, would involve far harsher measures than scrubbing pots. But for all the abbess would bluster, she would also know how to proceed. These ruffians must be caught and dealt with before they could do further mischief.

Judith jumped when a thump reverberated through the log, as though something had hit it. A squirrel? Rabbit? An animal with sharper teeth?

“You might as well come out, my lady,” said a voice she now recognized as Duncan’s. “I would as soon not come in to drag you out.”

Nay! This couldn’t be! How had they found her? Why hadn’t she heard them circle back? None of the answers mattered, for obviously they’d retraced their steps and found her hiding place. Or were they guessing? She didn’t move.

Thump.

“Have a care with those stones, Duncan,” Oswuld said. “If you hurt her.”

“I will not hurt the lady. Unless, of course, she makes me crawl through those brambles to drag her out of that log. What say you, Princess? Do you come out or must I come in?”

Whether they were sure of where she hid or not, they wouldn’t leave without checking, and she’d be found. Judith sighed.

Thump. Thump.

Judith swatted at several, agitated bugs. “Stop that!” she shouted, and crawled out of the log. She stopped short of wading through the brambles as she faced her tormentors.

The ruffian with the smug grin on his face had to be Duncan. He tossed several stones on the ground and dusted off his hands. The other, a lad barely grown into his beard, must be Oswuld. Oswuld looked malleable, Duncan no less than stubborn, but she wouldn’t know until she tried.

“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

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.”

Judith didn’t hide her anger. “I do not think I can. I have no legs. For one who promised me every comfort, you do a miserable job of providing it.”

“We will find you your own horse soon.”

The prospect thrilled her, for with her own horse the odds for a successful escape rose.

Duncan helped her down. Her hands pressed to her lower back, Judith hobbled over to a nearby log and eased her sore, weary body ontoit.

Thurkill had chosen a small clearing in which to spend the night. The men set about their chores. Thurkill took the horses to water in a nearby babbling stream, Oswuld gathered wood for a fire, Duncan set out rabbit snares.

“You should get up and walk about, my lady,” Oswuld told her. “You will find your legs sooner.”

Judith glared at him until he turned red and walked away. She wasn’t about to move until she was sure she could walk about without falling on her face. She’d suffered quite enough indignities today and refused to suffer more.

Mercy, but she was tired. Beyond the physical pains, she’d also waged a heady battle with her emotions. She’d bounced from anger to frustration to fear far too many times today.

When the nagging pain in her thighs could no longer be ignored, she took Oswuld’s advice. If she didn’t walk, she would stiffen to stone.

Judith paced in front of the log, working out the stiffness and knots in her body. She cursed her idiocy, wondered how she could find her way back to the abbey, and said another prayer for the sheriff to come quickly.

Duncan returned with two rabbits dangling from his hand. Thurkill returned from caring for the horses. The evening meal wasn’t long off now. For tonight, she was stuck here.

Back at the abbey, the nuns would be sitting down at the trestle tables in the. refectory. They would give thanks for their food, then, in silence, eat what was put before them. Had Sister Mary Margaret returned-safely to the abbey? Had the abbess sent for the sheriff? Was anyone looking for her? Did anyone care enough to miss her?

Judith shook her head to clear the maudlin thoughts.

“A bite of bread, my lady?” Oswuld asked.

Oswuld’s courtesy had her bristling once more. She took the crust of brown bread and ate it without thanking him. Just because he strove to be polite didn’t mean she must also put on her manners. She would never forgive Oswuld his part in her capture, nor did one trade pleasantries with the likes of brigands.

“Mayhap a walk to the stream to wash away the road dust would suit you,” he suggested, waving a hand toward the stream. “I will take you down, if you wish.”

“Iwish to return to the abbey where I might have a long, hot bath and clean, unripped garments!”

Oswuld sighed in exasperation. Judith didn’t sympathize.

“I fear the stream is all I can offer, my lady. Do you wish to go or not?”

She did, and led the way.

“Guard her close, son,” Thurkill called out from across the clearing, where he tended the cooking rabbits.

Oswuld nodded, not losing stride.

“Guard me close, he says,” Judith complained. “Where does your father think I am going, I wonder? He batters me all the day long to the point of immovable joints, then worries that I might run away.”

“He takes his duty and your care to heart, Lady Judith. Truly, none of us wish you to come to any harm.”

She turned on him. “No harm? Every muscle in my body screams for mercy. The skirt of my robe is tattered beyond repair. I have been chased through brambles and frightened nearly witless, thanks to your nefarious band. You snatched me from the safety of the abbey and are taking me to.” Her voice caught. She took a deep breath and cleared her throat before she continued, “I know not where. Think on all you have put me through today and tell me again that you mean me no harm.”

He did think, for just a moment, his mouth curving into a frown. Then he shook off his thoughts and had the gall to say, “All will be well, Lady Judith. You will see.”

She tossed up her hands in frustration and took the last steps to the stream. A splash of cold water drew the heat from her face but did nothing to ease her upset. Oswuld allowed her a moment of privacy to care for bodily necessities before they returned to the campsite.

The men sat near the fire, watching the roasting rabbits turn brown. Oswuld guided her to a nearby boulder, where she perched to wait for her share of the meal. Her stomach grumbled loudly, but no one paid it any heed. Mercy, the meat was taking a long time to cook. She dragged her attention away from the juice that dripped and hissed in the fire.

“You owe me an explanation, Thurkill,” she said.

Scrunched down beside the fire, Thurkill gave the rabbit another turn before answering. “I do at that, Lady Judith, and I suppose now is as good a time as any to give it.” He stood and scratched at his beard. “Where to start?”

“You might begin with why I have been abducted.”

Thurkill smiled. “To make you our queen, of course.”

“What?” she blurted out.

“You find that hard to believe?”

“‘Tis possibly the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard!” she said, voicing her immediate reaction.

“But true, I promise you.”

Judith opened her mouth to protest, but closed it again. Her reasoning simply wasn’t keeping up with this absurd conversation. A queen, indeed! She thought back on all of the assumptions she’d made today about these men and their purpose. Obviously, she’d missed some vital link in her conclusions.

“Queen of what?” she couldn’t help but ask.

“England.”

She leaned forward. “England already has a queen-my aunt Matilda.”

“Matilda will no longer be queen when Henry is no longer king. His reign will end soon if all goes well.”

Judith trembled with horror. Thurkill calmly, with a smile on his face, spoke treason.

She could manage no more than a choked whisper. “You intend to displace King Henry.”

“And put a Saxon on the throne.” Thurkill’s smile faded. “These Normans have ruled our land far too long. We intend to send them all back to Normandy and reclaim the lands they stole from us at the Conquest.”

Unthinkable. Impossible! “You would need a vast army, well armed and trained and-”

“Aye, my lady, and a man capable of leading our army to victory. We have the leader and are amassing the army.”

“Who would dare.?”

“I cannot tell you, not until we reach the safety of his holding,” he said, and turned back to his rabbits.

Judith’s thoughts churned, not wanting to settle on her part in these men’s plans. But once it gelled, she felt compelled to confirm it.

“This leader of yours, ‘tis he you wish me to wed.”

Thurkill looked up at her. “He is of noble Saxon blood, but not royal. Marriage to you will strengthen his claim to the throne, make the shift of power more acceptable to the royal houses of other countries.”

The royal house of Scotland would be the first to come to England’s aid. “Acceptable to my uncle Alexander, you mean.”

“And others.”

“‘Tis a foolhardy undertaking.”

“‘Tis England’s only hope.”

Judith closed her eyes and drew a long breath. Thurkill wouldn’t be moved by her arguments, nor would the other men. If they’d followed Thurkill on this villainous adventure to capture her-to make her their queen, of all the ridiculous notions-they must believe in the rightness of what they did.

“My lady?”

Judith opened her eyes to see Thurkill standing before her, holding out a chunk of rabbit. Absently, she accepted it and took a small bite. Her hunger had vanished, but she needed to eat, if only to bolster her strength for the ordeal ahead. Mercy, she must not only find a way to escape, but to quickly warn the kings of both England and Scotland of the impending uprising.

She glanced from Thurkill-who’d taken a seat on the log she’d abandoned earlier-to Oswuld and Duncan. They all tucked into their portions of meat as if there would be no meal on the morrow, as most soldiers did. And these men were soldiers, though they fought for a hopeless cause.

Normans had ruled England for more than four decades, held every high position in the land, owned nearly every inch of England. Dislodging the Normans wouldn’t take an army, ‘twould take a miracle, and miracles came few and far between.

The meat went down hard and sat as a solid lump in her stomach, but she finished her portion. She turned to toss the bones in the fire, praying for her own small miracle.

Thurkill gasped. Duncan leaped upward.

“Sit you back down or your leader dies,” commanded a male voice with steady and calm authority.

Recognition thrummed through her. She’d never forgotten the sound of that voice, the deep, smooth tones of a courageous, handsome knight. Even as she looked to confirm the man’s identity, she wondered if her sight deceived her.

Corwin! She would know his handsome visage and azure-blue eyes anywhere. He wore no helmet, leaving his shoulder-length brown hair free to frame his high cheekbones and strong, clean-shaven chin.

His highly polished chain mail reflected the orange rays of the setting sun, giving him an aura of breathtaking power. The hilt of his sword flashed from where it rested in the scabbard at his waist. He was a sight to behold, to be sure.

With one hand twisted into Thurkill’s hair, the other holding a dagger pressed hard to the helpless man’s throat, Corwin stared hard at Duncan.

Very slowly, Duncan obeyed Corwin’s command, resuming his seat on the forest floor.

Judith stood up, her heart beating so fast she nearly fainted. By the grace of God, Corwin had found her. Rescue was at hand.

“If everyone remains calm, we may avoid bloodshed,” Corwin said. “Especially yours, Thurkill. My dagger is sharp, and I have yet to decide whether or not to let you live.”

To Corwin’s relief, Thurkill remained tense but didn’t move. Killing the brigands’ leader wasn’t part of hisplan, a plan that had changed in extreme measure when he’d overheard the rebels’ treasonous intention to overthrow the king of England.

Throughout the day he’d trailed this band with every intention of snatching Judith from her abductors. They hadn’t been difficult to track, and had given him the opportunity. But now, with a kingdom at stake, he couldn’t carry through.

Judith stood across the campsite, a smile gracing her lovely mouth. Wisps of hair had escaped her braid, which was about to come undone, giving a winsome quality to her classically beautiful features. Admiration and expectation shone in those sultry gray eyes he remembered so well.

Her unfettered glee had naught to do with seeing him again, he knew. She expected release from her ordeal. He was about to disappoint her, and the stronger her reaction to what she would perceive as betrayal, the better for both of them.

“You know my name?” Thurkill whispered, dragging Corwin’s attention away from the woman across the campsite to the man held statue still by the dagger at his throat.

“Aye, I know your name,” Corwin said, then glanced at the men who remained seated near the fire. “I know all of your names. You have -been rather free with them all day.”

“All day?” Oswuld asked with disbelief.

“A good portion of it. I heard Lady Judith’s screams when you took her. By the time I finished questioning the nuns you left behind, I had to track you. ‘Twas not difficult, despite your efforts to cover your trail.” He looked down at Thurkill. “I wondered if you were actually that clever, or if you had simply become lost when you began going in circles this afternoon. You are lost, are you not, Thurkill?”

Thurkill neither moved a muscle nor answered.

Corwin continued. “Nor did you have any notion that I followed you. One should never leave one’s rear exposed to attack, Thurkill. But then, given the circumstances, I may not have thought anyone could follow so quickly, either.”

“Who are you?” Duncan asked.

“Corwin of Lenvil, knight of Wilmont. And if you will have me, the newest member of your band.”

He heard Judith’s stunned gasp. The men at the fire stared at him in surprise. Thurkill allowed himself a sharp intake of breath.

“You were also rather careless in voicing your purpose,” Corwin said. “I heard it all and heartily approve.”

“Then release me,” Thurkill ordered, though softly.

“Not yet, I think. ‘Twould be foolish to give up my advantage until I am assured I will not be murdered in my sleep.”

Judith’s hands clenched to fists at her sides. “How.howcould you? Corwin, this is madness!”

Her distress was understandable, and he was sorry for it, but he couldn’t back down. If there were any hope at all of stopping the rebellion before it started, he had to take this risk. Unfortunately, the risk extended to Judith, but he judged the danger to her slight. These men would crown her England’s queen if they had their way. They’d do all within their power to keep her safe. And she was certainly in no danger from him. He, too, would protect her.

His duty, as he saw it, was to prevent a war by learning all he could of the rebellion, especially the name of the Saxon noble who would dare to be king. Mayhap, if Judith proved trustworthy, Corwin would ease her mind by taking her into his confidence. Surely she’d see the sense in remaining with the rebels long enough to glean the information.

Or maybe not. Certes, she hadn’t shown much sense this morning. Too, he’d misjudged her before, three years agoand paid a price. She’d told him with a harsh snubbing that she considered him beneath her notice. And now he gave her reason to believe him lower than the dirt beneath her booted feet.

“Madness? Nay, my lady. This rebellion may free England from Norman tyranny. If the leader is capable. If the army is large enough and well equipped.” He looked down at Thurkill. “Is it? Or do I throw my lot in with you to find only men who travel in circles?”

Thurkill had the gumption to sneer. “You could do better, I suppose?”

Corwin smiled. “I can find the road you were looking for this noon.”

“How do we know we can trust you?” Duncan asked.

They shouldn’t, and making them believe would be the hardest part of his scheme.

“Do we all agree that, if I wished, I could take Lady Judith from you now, return to Romsey and set the sheriff on your tails?”

Judith’s hands rose to rest on her hips, emphasizing her anger. The action also thrust her breasts forward, prompting Corwin to wonder all over again if a lushly curved female body lurked beneath the shapeless black robe. He suspected the rest of her would be as perfectly carved as her comely face and delicate hands.

“Taking me back to Romsey is exactly what you should do!” she stated.

Maybe he should take Judith and go. Even now the lady’s face and form proved a mighty and unwanted distraction.

“But I will not,” Corwin said. “I am Saxon, as are all of you, and am as ready to throw off the Norman yoke as you seem to be. As I see it, I need not prove myself to you, but you to me.”

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

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.”

“Do you not? If I said we could leave this camp right now, would you not leap to your feet?”

“Aye, but Corwin-”

“Save your breath, my lady, for I will hear no more. Daylight comes soon. Sleep.”

Judith plopped down onto the grass and wrapped the blanket around her. She’d wasted her breath. Let him join the rebels and hang with his fellows when caught in his treason. She no longer cared.

“Beast,” she uttered, just loud enough for him to hear.

Corwin didn’t refute her accusation as he watched Judith settle into the long grass.

Beast.

His words had been aimed at Duncan, who lurked in the forest not a few feet, behind Judith, more guarding the lady-or watching him-than keeping a lookout for the sheriff. Corwin hoped Duncan would relay his statements to Thurkill. Not only would it aid his cause, it might prod the band’s leader into finding Judith a horse and change of garments quickly. She would need both when the time came to make their escape.

To Judith’s way of thinking, he’d probably sounded beastly, and that after she’d tried to make amends. Had she been sincere in her apology, or only attempting to sway him into aiding her escape from her kidnappers?

Her words had come out too stiff for sincerity. Yet he could well imagine the queen warning her niece about involvement with men of unsuitable rank. Nay, ‘twas a ploy on her part, designed to soften his heart toward her so he’d change his mind about joining the rebels. Frankly, if he took her back to the abbey, she wouldn’t then mind what he did at all.

Corwin started to roll to his other side, wipe his mind of all thoughts and drift back into a guarded sleep. Then Judith yawned, a long, indelicate sound, and he stayed where he was-to keep watch over her, of course.

Damn, but she intrigued him. With each encounter Judith showed him another facet of her personality.

She could be gentle and caring, as she’d been with Ardith. The day he and Ardith had ridden to Romsey Abbey had. been a hard one for his sister. Judith had shown them to a private room and loaned Ardith one of her own robes. While Ardith changed, Judith led him down a long hallway to the kitchen, where she fetched food and drink.

Judith had talked to him the entire way down and backof what, he couldn’t remember. He’d been too wrapped up in his own worries over how Gerard was going to react if he returned early from his journey to find Ardith gone. But even now, Corwin could. envision Judith’s comforting smile, hear her soothing voice. Both had helped ease his turmoil before returning to Ardith and the sitting room.

Then Judith had left, obviously to tell Queen Matilda of Ardith’s arrival and purpose-to see Sister Bernadette, who might be able to determine if Ardith could conceive, thereby satisfying the condition on which she and Gerard would be allowed to marry. Matilda herself had come to lead Ardith to the inner rooms of the abbey, consigning Corwin to wait in the priest’s hut outside the abbey walls.

On his way out he’d encountered Judith again, in the passageway. She’d walked pasthim-eyes forward, chin tilted upward, lips pursed-as if he didn’t exist. His saying her name brought no reaction, not even a hitch in her purposeful stride. All thoughts of thanking her for her tender care of Ardith had fled, and he’d carried that memory of her with him out the abbey door and through the years.

Then today he’d seen her temper-fiery indignation expressed with flashing eyes and vivid threats. No meek girl in evidence there! No haughty royal heiress, either. Simply a woman promising retribution for the wrong done to her.

Corwin smiled at the thought of Thurkill and his lord expecting Judith to meekly accept her fate. She found the, thought of being used to further the rebel lord’s aims abhorrent, and would fight.

But then, a woman’s protests against ill use usually went unheard by men greedy for power and wealth. Corwin knew of several ways a woman could be forced to marry against her will, and no doubt the rebel leader planned to use such force against Judith if necessary.

Not that Corwin would allow it, or even let the situation advance so far. No matter what Judith truly thought of him, he wouldn’t let the rebel leader abuse her. Once he learned the name of the leader and the location of the rebel camp, he and Judith would be off to London-Corwin to inform the king of the uprising, Judith to return to the protection of her royal family.

‘Twas best, for now, if she believed him to be a beast. He could only hope that when he found the right time to tell her of his true purpose, she would believe him and cooperate.

Corwin led the company out of the forest and onto the narrow dirt road. After clearing the woods, he moved his horse aside to allow Thurkill to take the lead. As Corwin suspected he would, the man headed north toward Oxford. Likely they would travel far beyond the city, for no man could gather an army large enough to challenge the king within southern England without someone noticing. In the wilds of the far north, however, no one would be the wiser. Too, the men of that region had always been the most eager to challenge the Normans.

Corwin gave a brief thought to the company he’d led out of Wilmont, and hoped William would do as commanded and escort the wagons, lumber and carpenters to Cotswold. Then Corwin slid into line several paces behind Thurkill, knowing Gerard would approve of his abandoning that duty to take on this task of higher purpose.

Thurkill set a lively pace up the rough road, merely a wide path of dirt deeply rutted by wagon wheels. Corwin kept watch on Judith, who rode pillion behind Thurkill, just as he knew the two men behind him watched his every move.

As the morning wore on, watching Judith bounce on the horse’s rump became harder. She would be sore this night, as she’d been sore the night before. There was no help for it. To evade the sheriff, they must keep up the pace.

Nearing midday, Judith’s right hand released its hold on Thurkill’s hauberk. She made a fist and hit him hard on the shoulder. Corwin bit back a smile. Had Thurkill refused a request to halt one too many times?

Corwin urged his destrier forward to come alongside Thurkill. “I know of a cave not far ahead where we might take a rest.”

“I have no wish to rest. The sheriff-”

“Will not find us there. ‘Tis a truly secluded site.” Corwin shrugged, as if uncaring one way or the other. “I think of your horse, Thurkill. He carries a greater burden than the others. But if you wish to go on, I will not object”

“Aye, think of your horse, Thurkill,” Judith said in a sarcastic tone. “Thisburden he carries would be most pleased to cease bruising his boney backside.”

Thurkill rolled his eyes heavenward. Had Judith been giving the man an earful of complaints and snide remarks all morning? Possibly.

The victim of a kidnapping, Judith had every right to protest. Her mind-numbing, hand-trembling terror had passed, but not her fear. She used anger to mask it, but Corwin didn’t want her to goad Thurkill too hard. The man might be under orders to bring her safely to his lord, but every man had his limits. Coping for hours on end with Judith’s sharp tongue might be more than Thurkill could tolerate.

“The cave is but a few minutes away if you care for a respite,” Corwin said.

Thurkill studied him for a moment. “How do I know you do not lead us into the sheriff’s snare?”

“You do not know if I lead you into a trap, just as I do not. know if you lead me into one at journey’s end. You will have to trust my word.”

“Humph. How does one villain learn to trust another?” Judith interjected. “Neither of you deserves anyone’s trust.”

Through clenched teeth, Thurkill ordered, “Find the cave.”

After a few moments of searching, Corwin found the overgrown path he sought, and at its end, the cave. Brush hid the mouth of the cavern located halfway up a steep hill. A stream bubbled along at the base. The narrow sloping path from the stream to the cave proved a challenge for the horses, but all made it up without incident.

Corwin dismounted, planning to help Judith down from Thurkill’s horse. Oswuld beat him to it. ‘Twasprobably for the best. The less he had to deal with Judith just now, the better. Her hands pressed into her back, she walked stiffly toward the mouth of the cave, with Oswuld a step behind her.

“How know you this place?” Duncan asked, his voice echoing in the large chamber. “‘Tisrather far from where you say you live.”

Corwin noted the suspicious undertone in Duncan’s question. “‘Tis far, but a friend and I once used this cave to shelter from a storm. Luckily, Stephen knew of its existence.”

“Thiscompanion you speak of must travel much to know of so remote a spot.”

Corwin slid his hands from his riding gloves, thinking of Stephen, his best friend and Gerard’s youngest brother. Aye, Stephen liked to travel, rush headlong into one adventure after the other. Corwin had gleefully joined him on several of his journeys.

“He does love to travel, more than most men I know.”

Duncan huffed. “He must be a Norman, then, to have the coin and time to waste roaming about the land.”

Stephen did, but on that particular journey Stephen had performed a valuable service for Gerard, and Richard, their half brother. Having acquired several new holdings in a court judgment, Gerard had given most of the land to his brothers. Stephen had offered to visit all the holdings, determine the condition of each, then report on which needed repairs or where the people needed immediate assistance.

The Norman who’d previously owned the lands had been a cruel man, and Corwin saw firsthand how the peasants had suffered, then witnessed their joy when told they’d been placed under Wilmont protection. None had truly cared which brother became overlord. Each man had a reputation for fairness, even benevolence.

True, most Normans looked to their own wealth and comfort and never noticed any hardship suffered by the people who provided for them. Telling Duncan that some Normans could be generous and honorable, however, wouldn’t aid Corwin’s ruse.

“Aye, the Normans are a selfish, cruel race,” Corwin proclaimed. “‘Twas a sad day for England when King Harold lost the battle to Duke William of Normandy.”

Duncan’s mouth twisted into a sneer. “When the bastard invaded England he killed or maimed all who would not submit to his rule, burned crops and forests and huts at will until those country folk left could barely survive. A sad day for England, indeed.”

Corwin now knew with certainty from where Duncan hailed. Only in the far north had the Conqueror taken such drastic measures to bring the old Saxon earls to heel. Corwin’s ancestors hadn’t joined in any rebellion, but had accepted the Conqueror as king and pledged fealty to the man the new king declared their overlord. The transfer of power had been peaceful, so unlike the experience of Duncan’s family.

Corwin laid a hand on his destrier’s neck, a fine example of Wilmont’s herd. He’d benefited greatly from Norman rule. Would he be less complacent if his ancestors had lost everything, if his Norman overlord had been less honorable?

“This lord you follow, he has a plan to overtake the kingdom without any of the peasants suffering?” Corwin asked.

“Aye. We must first be rid of King Henry. Then the barons will give way in due course.”

Duncan, clearly, knew nothing of the ways of war and less of Norman barons. Even with the king vanquished, the Normans wouldn’t give way. Each would defend his strongest castle and challenge the Saxons for possession. A battle for the entire kingdom would be fought castle by castle, with the peasants suffering the most.

“Father!” Oswuld cried out as he ran into the cave. “She is gone! Lady Judith-I cannot find her!”

A cold fist gripped Corwin’s innards.

“You were supposed to be guarding her!” Thurkill shouted.

“I allowed her privacy to take relief and she slipped away.”

Cursing himself roundly for not anticipating this attempt at escape, knowing which way he would go if in Judith’s situation, Corwin bolted out of the cave, hoping to get there ahead of her.

Chapter Five

She couldn’t find the path.

With hands on her hips, Judith slowly turned in a full circle, looking carefully for any sign of her escape route. Four horses had ridden through this area not long ago, trampled down the grass and pushed aside brush. Thepath had to be here somewhere, and she must find it quickly before Oswuld noticed she’d fled.

Her plan was a simple one. Find the road and head north toward whatever town lay ahead. Send someone to take word of the rebellion to Scotland. Enlist a trustworthy person to act as her guide to London. Surely her kidnappers expected her to flee south, back toward the safety of the abbey. But she could trick her kidnappers, if only. she could find the path.

Judith wiped away the moisture gathering in her eyesfrom weariness. She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t afraid. She didn’t have time for either.

She spun at the sound of rustling in the brush behind her. A small animal, gray-brown and furry, scurried into the heavier brush beyond. A squirrel, perhaps. Or a rabbit. Not a man.

She blew out a long breath and struggled to regain her concentration. Nothing looked familiar, until she spotted a tree with two wind-snapped lower branches. Had she seen it before, during the ride to the cave? Aye, there, just beyond the tree the grass lay flat.

She hiked up her robe to run down the path to freedom.

“Judith!”

Corwin.

She stared at the path.Run! A useless effort. Corwin was too close. He would catch her in a trice. She unclenched her hands, letting the fabric fall. At the edge of her vision, she saw the glint of a sunbeam flash off his chain mail.

Close. So very close to freedom.

Once again, ‘twas Corwin who thwarted her. He would take her back to her captors, and they would watch her so closely now she might never get away.

Corwin closed the distance between them, until he was so near she could reach out and touch him if she chose.

“I beg of you, Corwin. Let me go,” she said. To her own ears she sounded desperate. Perhaps she was. She looked up into the azure eyes she’d once so admired, still considered beautiful. The eyes of a traitor. “Join the rebels if you wish, but I want no part of their scheme. Let them find another woman for their queen, one who believes in their cause. I have no heart for it.”

He smiled, almost tenderly. “‘Tis not your heart they desire, Judith, but your name and womb. However, if someone asked me to choose a more perfect woman to make their queen, I could not come up with another’s name.”

His flattery fell far short of whatever mark he hoped to hit.

“Then you betray me again, force me to stay with the rebels.”

“I cannot let you go, Judith.” He sighed. “I will try to explain—”

Judith crossed her arms. “I heard your traitorous reasoning last eve, and have no wish to hear it again.”

Corwin took a long, intense look around them. “I am no rebel, never will be.”

Astonished and hopeful, Judith stammered. “But-but last eve you said. are you saying you have changed your mind?”

“My mind is set on joining the rebels, but not for the reasons I gave Thurkill. We have not much time before we are found, Judith. Come, this way. ‘Twillgive us a measure of privacy a moment or two longer.”

He grabbed hold of her hand and tugged her toward the path. His hand was warm, large and encompassing. The strength of it didn’t surprise her, but the tingling sensation that snaked up her arm at his touch set her mind to spinning and her knees to shaking. An unwelcome and unwise reaction to a man she needed to guard against.

“I go nowhere with you,” she declared, and jerked her hand from his grasp. “I care not why you wish to join the rebels. I swear to you, Corwin, if you join them, I will ensure you are punished in suitable fashion.”

The man had the gall to smile. “Chopped to bits and then hanged, or was it the other way around?”

She forced away a vision of Corwin hanging from a rope, not wanting to imagine the rest. How could she save him from that dreadful fate when he wouldn’t listen?

“‘Tis a gruesome punishment you risk, no matter the way of it.”

Judith flinched when he put his hands on her shoulders.

He frowned and released her. “To my mind, the best way to thwart this rebellion is to join it. I need to learn everything I can-in particular the camp location, their numbers and the leader’s name-before going to King Henry. I could use your help, Judith. The more quickly done, the more quickly over.”

Corwin pretended to join the rebellion? Judith wanted so badly to believe him her heart ached. Except last night he’d made very convincing arguments to the contrary. She could have sworn he truly intended to join the rebels. Did he lie to her now?

“Help in what way?”

“I ask you to do no more than make this journey easier by not trying to escape. I cannot do what needs be done if I must chase after you each time you take it into your head to flee.”

She’d been seized by strange men, bounced around on the back of a horse until her backside bore bruises, been forced to sleep on the ground-known fear and anger such as she’d never known before. Corwin now asked her to allow further indignities willingly. Of course, if the villains need not worry over her, the journey would go faster. But to what end?

“You want me to assist these knaves?”

“Only until I obtain the information I need.”

“And how long might that take?”

“Depends upon how soon I can get them to trust me.”

Judith voiced her greatest fear. “What if that never happens? What if you learn nothing of import until we ride into the rebel’s stronghold?”

Corwin took a deeper than normal breath. “I am hoping that will not happen. I have no more wish to ride into their stronghold than you do.”

“You only hope. There is no certainty,” she said. “Last eve, Thurkill vowed to tell me no more of his lord or the rebels’ plans until after we arrived at wherever we are going. I doubt he. will reveal more to you, either. Then what, Corwin? After we are in the rebels’ camp, we may both be trapped.”

Corwin shook his head. “I will not let that happen.”

Judith scoffed. “So you say.”

“So I give you my oath.”

Last eve, he’d vowed to serve the rebels’ leader in exchange for the reward of Wilmont. Which oath did Corwin truly mean to keep?

“Please, let us go now. We know enough to set the king’s men on their trail. Let the soldiers find the camp and stop the rebellion.”

This time, when he put his hands on her shoulders, Judith didn’t flinch, merely accepted the comfort offered in his massaging fingers.

“I know you are frightened,” he said softly. “I would take you away from here now, if I could. But Judith, if we flee, Thurkill will hunt us down to the ends of the kingdom if need be. And what would we tell the king if we managed to get to London? That we know of three men whosay there will be a rebellion, whomay have a large army gathered somewhere, with a leader whomight be capable of leadership? I promise you, as soon as I know more of this rebellion, we will escape.”

He sounded so sure of himself, so reasonable. Yet.

“So we wait to make our escape until there is an entire army at hand and eager to hunt us down.”

“We wait until I have a solid plan and we both have horses. Try not to worry, and think on this. This Saxon noble they follow. Very likely he is, or was, connected with the court of the Scots. Have you any idea who the man might be?”

“Nay, I.”Oh, dear. Shocked, Judith realized Corwin might have the right of it. She might very well know this person who’d ordered her abduction. She might have stood next to him in the palace hall, talked to him in the gardens, shared a jest during one festivity or another.

She’d been but a young girl when her parents sent her to the abbey, but she remembered most of the nobles, their names and faces. Which of them might have turned traitor?

“If it helps,” Corwin said, “I believe we are headed for the far north, mayhap nearly to the border. The man may have a holding there. He may truly be Saxon or mayhap an exiled Scot. I know this is hard.” Corwin went very still, save for a brief, nearly imperceptible glance left. “Thurkill comes. I will turn you around and give you a push, toward the cave. We will talk more later.”

Even though forewarned, Judith stumbled and cried out at the force of his shove.

She began walking, becoming angry all over again. “Was that necessary?” she said, tossing the words over her shoulder.

“It looked good to Thurkill. He needs to believe you and I are at odds.”

“What makes you think we are not?”

Judith sat against the cold cave wall, trying to ignore Thurkill’s loud, echoing voice, trying not to feel guilty for getting Oswuld into trouble with his father. She shouldn’t care if Thurkill punished his son severely, as he threatened, for allowing her brief escape.

Corwin busied himself with the tack on his destrier, apparently also trying to disregard Thurkill’s shouting. He didn’t quite succeed. At times, he would glance at Oswuld with a puzzled look on his face, as if wondering how much more Oswuld could bear without fighting back.

Duncan hadn’t yet returned. When he did, they would leave. She wished he would hurry. Then she wouldn’t have to listen to Thurkill’s ranting, and wouldn’t wonder if his wrath would turn on her. He-hadn’t said a word to her since her capture, only thanked Corwin for his quick thinking and speedy action.

Thanks to Corwin’s suggestion, names of Saxon nobles whirled around in her head, but she couldn’t think of one she knew who had reason-and the means-to lead a rebellion against England’s king.

Judith pulled Ardith’s note from the folds of her tattered nun’s robe. As always, the sight of her friend’s lovely script proved soothing. Over the years, Ardith had written of her everyday life at Wilmont, of the trials and joys that came with the duties as chatelaine to so large an estate, as well as being a wife and mother. No matter how much she complained at the price of some commodity, or how difficult she found it to get everything done within the space of a day, Ardith sounded as happy as any woman could possibly be.

She’d married a wonderful man, both lover and friend, who treated her with respect and who she respected in return. The two of them worked and played, shared joys and sorrows, always together. To Judith’s mind, they enjoyed the ideal marriage. What must it be like to know, deep within your heart, that one very special person would always be there when needed, would love and cherish you forever?

“Is aught amiss?” Corwin asked.

He stood before her, his arms crossed over the wide expanse of his chest. So much was amiss she didn’t know how he could ask her such a question. But then, he wasn’t looking at her, but at the parchment she held in her hands. ‘Twasnot for her that he voiced concern.

“Nay. What leads you to think so?”

“Youlooked. saddened. I thought mayhap Ardith wrote of ill tidings, and I wondered what they were.”

On that, she could set his mind at ease. “Ardith writes of the boys’ antics, of her husband’s protectiveness and of not being able to see her feet. ‘Twill please her greatly to have her child born.”

Ardith also wrote of her brother, but Corwin already knew that. Judith had ungraciously told him so last eve after he’d handed her the letter.

The corner of his supple mouth curved into a brief smile. “She will push this child out with hopes of having another. Last I heard, she wants six at the least.”

“And Gerard?”

“Will grant her every whim, so long as it does not harm her health.”

Judith glanced down at the note. “Her happiness shines through in every word she writes. She and Gerard have the perfect marriage, do they not?”

Corwin shook his head. “She misleads you in her letters, then. Both are headstrong. When they argue, the rest of us stay well away.”

The one time Judith had seen Gerard and Ardith together, Gerard had been in a fine temper, bellowing Ardith’s name, plunging through the abbey’s passageways as he looked for her. Upon finding her, he’d growled his displeasure. When Ardith had chided him, assured him of her well-being, that bear of a man had gentled almost instantly. Judith could well imagine the sparks that flew when Ardith’s temper clashed with Gerard’s. She doubted, however, if any argument could cause a permanent rift in the marriage. The two loved each other too well.

“Yet when their disagreement is over, their love remains undamaged, does it not?” Judith asked. At Corwin’s nod, she continued, “‘Tis as it should be, and worth bearing most any hardship. If there is a rebellion, Ardith will stand with Gerard, come what may. Be they in castle or hut, she will be happy so long as they are together. This assumes, of course, that Gerard does not die in the fighting.”

Corwin grinned. “Do not worry over Gerard. The man is quite skilled at holding his own in any fight involving swords.”

In the ensuing silence-and there was silence, for Thurkill had ceased his tirade-Judith refolded the precious piece of parchment and tucked it safely away.

Duncan returned to the cave. “Ah, the princess is found,” he said, giving her a mock bow. Judith refused to acknowledge his insolence.

When she gave no retort, he turned to Thurkill. “While searching for the lady, I spied a small village. One of the women was spreading garments over bushes, I assume to dry from washing. Now might be our chance to pilfer a gown for her ladyship.”

“Why did you not just take one?” Thurkill grumbled.

“I was busy looking for the princess. Besides, what sense taking one if she had not been found?”

Judith took the hand Corwin offered to help her up. She didn’t want to let go. The man did strange things to her mind. Though she wondered if she could trust him, she still felt safest when he was near.

“My lady,” Thurkill said, “I will warn you only this once. Should you attempt another escape, I will order you tied to one of us at all times. You will not know another moment’s privacy.”

He said it without a dram of emotion in his voice. Not a plea for cooperation nor an angry threat, ‘twas the statement of a commander of men.

Before she could express her outrage, Corwin spoke.

“Best heed the warning, Lady Judith. ‘Twould be most uncomfortable for you, and bothersome for the rest of us to have you tied.”

Did she hear an underlying message-that Corwin would find it harder to arrange an escape if her hands were tied? Or did she imagine it, wanting to believe he had her best interests at heart and not those of the rebels?

“The next time I leave you, Thurkill, ‘twill be for good.” And with that, she headed for Thurkill’s horse.

Oswuld stood there. He’d draped a blanket over the horse’s rump. “‘Tis not much, my lady, but may soften the ride.”

His kindness touched her, especially since she’d caused him so much trouble. But she was the victim here and refused to treat any of her captors other than as villains. They might take any softening of her attitude as a sign of weakening her stance, and that she couldn’t do.

“You have the right of it, Oswuld. ‘Tis not much. A horse of my own would be much appreciated.”

“Then you might wish to assure my father you are resigned to making the whole of this journey, or he may judge you too untrustworthy to let you have your own mount.”

“I will not change my mind about assisting this nefarious scheme. I have no desire to meet much less marry your lord.”

“Resist as you will, my lady.” Oswuld glanced over at his father, who still conversed with Corwin. “Father will take you to our camp, willing or no. He has his orders and will see them through or.”

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