By Queen's Grace

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.”