By Queen's Grace

“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?”