By Queen's Grace

“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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