Arrow To The Heart (De Bron Saga) (19 page)

  Rowena chuckled at that, but shook her head.  "Nay, I am serving my king better where I am. I have a ride to complete. But I thank you, Little John, for the compliment."  She grabbed at the reins but before she parted company with Robin Hood's right hand man, she couldn't resist yelling, "say hello for me to your leader though, and tell him that when next we meet before an arrow's target I will best him."

"Best him?"  Little John started to grin.

"Don't laugh.  Robin will remember me.  It was I who nearly won the golden arrow.  Had it not been for the wind, I well might have done so."  Not having time to wait for Little John's reply, she rode off.

Kendrick tossed and turned upon the bed, besieged by worry. How could he have allowed a woman to go on such a hazardous mission? Why hadn’t he guessed that she would be so foolhardy and somehow stopped her? What if she were caught? What if Prince John’s men held her captive at this very moment?  He knew well what treachery they were capable of.

“Where is she? What is taking her so long?” His jaw was clenched as he thought about what had befallen him. Hugo! The traitor! Had it not been for Rowena, he would most likely be dead, or huddled along the roadside, dying. “Rowena!” She had saved him. Or had she?

Closing his eyes, Kendrick tried to remember exactly what had happened, but alas it was all a blur. He did remember a voice, however. Whispering. Caressing. “It does not matter who you be,” the voice had said, “for any foe of John’s is friend to me.”

Suddenly Kendrick opened his eyes as he had another memory. “Help me!
” A male voice had warbled.

“And just why should we?”

“Because I’ll cut off your ears if you don’t.”

He sat up so quickly that his head seemed to spin. Could it be? Rowena and the archer one and the same? If not, then why were there so many coincidences? How was it that Rowena and the archer merged in his mind’s eye? First one and then the other?

Kendrick’s head swam with a hundred angry questions that for the  moment blotted out his pain. Was it? Could it be?  How? When? Where? Why? Alas, he fell back down. Did it really matter? She was everything he could want in a woman, beautiful, brave and passionate despite her protestations to the contrary. She had felt so right in his arms. So very right.

That did not mean, however, that they did not have a score to settle, he reflected hazily. If she really was who he suspected she might be, she would need to be taught a thing or two.

Chapter Eighteen

Canterbury stood on a site that had already been occupied for over three hundred years when the Romans arrived. Now it was covered with a light dusting of snow which sparkled like jewels as the sun peeked from behind a cloud. Rowena walked along the cobbled streets, tugging at her mantle as she gazed at the city of Canterbury.

So much had happened here before she was born. Perhaps that was why she felt somehow as if the city were haunted. Looking at the town walls, the castle and the gray stone of the cathedral, Rowena could not help but be reminded of Thomas Becket. Twenty-three years ago he was murdered here by four Norman knights, making
Canterbury a European center of pilgrimage.

“Who will rid me of this low-born priest?” King Hendry II had cried out in a characteristic burst of rage. In all too eager response, four knights had volunteered, making the Saxon-born Thomas a martyr. Stepping through the wide wooden door, Rowena could nearly feel their presence.

It was quiet inside the gray stone walls. Though she trod softly, she could hear the sound of her footsteps echoing in her ears. She did not hear the cleric who came upon her, however, until she heard his voice.

“Are you looking for someone?”

Whirling around, Rowena was confronted by a tall, stern-looking, balding man all dressed in dark brown. “I wish to see Hubert Walter, elected Archbishop of Canterbury on the king’s urgent demand.”

“The archbishop.” Eyeing her up and down and judging her to be inconsequential, he shook his head. “He is busy.”

“I am certain that he is, however, I would think him not too busy to hear news concerning the king.”

“The king?”

She stepped forward. “I have a message, one for which a man nearly lost his life.”

The cleric was hesitant, then after staring at the “lad” for a long, long time, he beckoned her to follow him. “Come.”

He led her in the direction of the Christ Church, a stone building with a red, black and blue roof whose turrets were topped with gilded pinnacles. From the apex of the central tower rose a cherub, riding high against the sky like a guardian. Nestled by the church’s side around the great quadrangle of the cloister were the dark monastic buildings. It was to the archbishop’s palace, a manor house, however, that she was finally taken.

Rowena took the stairs two at a time as she ascended into the main part of the archbishop’s palace. The hall was dim and quiet as she entered and she paused in the doorway as she realized that those within were kneeling, saying prayers. Except for Hubert Walter, who was pacing up and down the room. He stopped as he noticed Rowena’s presence.

“What is this, Henry? Who is this boy?” Dressed in a dalmatic, a richly embroidered robe with slits up the sides, a short tunicle and a sleeveless chasuble, he looked formidable and impressive.  A worthy opponent for the prince.

Rowena hurriedly pushed forward, kneeling to kiss the archbishop’s ring  before she answered. “Who I am is unimportant. It is what I have to tell you that is of consequence.” In an even tone she quic
kly told him about Kendrick de Bron’s ambush and her suspicion that in some way Prince John had been involved.

The wry-faced archbishop listened to all she had to say attentively and without interrupting. At last he did make a comment. “I am acutely conscious of the doings of that unscrupulous member of the royal family.”

“Richard has been captured,” Rowena breathlessly continued. “He was taken to Vienna. He must be rescued at all costs. I can gather up volunteers from among the villagers and I myself will go—“

“Impossible.” His tone was curt and he made no explanations.

“Impossible?” Forgetting herself, Rowena allowed her voice to get shrill. “Nothing is impossible.”

The corners of the archbishop’s mouth turned down in a frown. “If Richard has vanished from sight, it is.”

“Vanished!” Rowena’s face paled.

“All that is known is that he is being kept by perfidious German rulers. Queen Eleanor is personally going to send a letter to the Pope demanding that the papacy compel the emperor to release her son. Other than that, all that can be done is to comply with the ransom demand.”

It would be a hard task to raise the huge sum of money needed for Richard’s ransom, for the country had not yet recovered from the drain of the Crusade, the archbishop said. He would make a radical experiment, placing a tax on the land. Twenty shillings on each knight’s fee. In addition ,he would make demands to the church. Even on monastic institutions, which had heretofore been exempt from taxation.

“Comply!” Rowena thought immediately of her father. This tax would hit him hard. Was it any wonder then that as she left
Canterbury she was troubled?

Kendrick’s wounds hurt. How then was it possible for a hot sweat of desire to run down his muscled chest and back and tickle his long, muscular legs? “Oh, God!” He wanted her. More than he had ever wanted anything in all his life.

The image of Rowena Fitz Hugh’s slim, desirable form, her pretty face, in fact teased him unmercifully. He wanted her to hurry back, wanted to feel her firm breasts against his naked flesh, wanted to touch her all over.

He closed his eyes, reveling in the feel of the smooth linen sheets against his skin. “Mmmmmmm….” He imagined her body soft and warm, strangely magical in the power that her nearness had over him. Was that why he dozed off into a kind of throbbing, uneasy sleep, a sleep in which he dreamed of her?

She was in the room with him, her arms outstretched as she took a stop towards him. “I love you, Kendrick de Bron. I want you….so much….”

Placing her long hands on either side of his face, she bent her arrogant mouth to his for a kiss. Her lips, so soft ,like the touch of a cloud. Kendrick felt himself drifting, spinning, sinking.

He held her against him, his hands spanning her narrow waist, his lips traveling slowly down the soft flesh of her throat, tasting the sweetness of her skin. Murmuring her name he buried his face in the silky strands of her hair, inhaling the delicate fragrance of flowers in the luxurious softness. “I want you, Rowena….”

With impatient hands he quickly loosened her lacings, laughing softly as he realized how clumsy his fingers were. “I can’t seem to manage….” Ah, but at last his fingers parted the fragile fabric of her chemise to cup one firm, budding breast, touching her, setting her body afire with a pulsating flame of desire. Rowena writhed beneath him, giving herself up to the glorious sensations he was igniting within her.

His hands moved along her back sending forth shivers of pleasure, he in the touching and she in being touched. Desire flooded his mind, obliterating all reason as he held her against his heart.

Wrapped in ach other’s arms, they kissed, his mouth moving upon hers, pressing her lips apart, hers responding, exploring gently the sweet firmness of his. Shifting her weight, she rolled closer into his embrace. His hands moved on her body, stroking her lightly—her throat, her breasts, her belly, her thighs. With reverence he positioned his hands to touch her breasts. Gently. Slowly. Until they swelled in his hands. He wanted to be gentle, but it took all his self-control to keep his passion in check. He wanted to make it beautiful for her, wanted to be the perfect lover.

“Rowena!”

He held her face in his hands, kissing her eyelids, the curve of her cheekbones, her mouth. “Rowena. Rowena.” He repeated her name over and over again as if to taste of it on his lips.

Her hands caressed his chest, her wide blue eyes beckoning him, enticing him
. “Love me, Kendrick,” she breathed. Arching up, she was eager to drink fully of that which was promised.

“Aye. Oh, I will  my sweet, sweet love.” Feverishly he clung to her. Their hearts beat in matching
rhythm even as their mouths met and their bodies embraced in the slow sensuous dance of love.

“Kendrick!” Kendrick gazed down upon her face, gently brushing back the tangled golden hair from her eyes. From this moment on she was his. He would never share her with anyone. Never.

From a distance there was laughter, a piercing sound. Kendrick felt as if he were falling, falling….Reaching out he sought the security of his lover’s arms, but she was gone. Hovering right above his head, however, was another visage.

“Oh, no!”

“There is a fee for riding through the forest, my lord.” Called out a voice.

“Fee?”

“Your clothes!”

Running his hands over his body;, Kendrick found that he had already paid that price. He was naked. “You young scoundrel!”
Clenching his hands into fists, he lashed out, fighting, tossing, turning. “Where is she? What have you done with her?

“Why, I am here, my love….” With an impish grin, the young archer cocked his head, warbling in falsetto.

“Nay!” It was but a mistake. He wanted his lady back, didn’t want to believe…

Reality coursed through him as he felt himself hit the ground. Opening his eyes, Kendrick found himself lying on the floor, tangled in linens and blankets. Wincing against his discomfort, he propped himself shakily up on one elbow and looked around him. Just a dream. And yet….

The moon glowed like a golden coin through the haze of clouds but though Rowena wanted to rest, she prodded herself onward. She needed to hurry back home, wanted to tell her father and Kendrick all that had transpired in
Canterbury.

We must gather up the ransom money. Somehow….”

As she rode along, Rowena tried to figure in her mind just how many late-night rides she would have to make and how many rich noblemen she must “charge a fee” in order to give the archbishop sufficient aid in his quest for the ransom.

At least a fifty nobleman and thirty quests for money.  A month should do it.
But was that quickly enough?

Though she knew she shouldn’t have eavesdropped, she had listened at the door as the archbishop had discussed the king’s abduction with his clerics.  A further worry had been added. It had been learned that the emperor had send word to Philip of France about his plans for the royal captive. Philip had expressed interest in buying the king himself, declaring that Richard would never again see the sun shine on his own possessions. Refusing this, he had offered a huge sum if the emperor would refuse to release the prisoner. Moreover, the French king wanted John to visit
Paris in order to get the matter settled, a request that Queen Eleanor had denied. Thankfully, her youngest son was still afraid of her. Still, it was not beyond John to let some other rat do the dirty work for him. Rowena could only worry.

Hoof beats
! Rowena reined in her mount, hoping that she was wrong. Ah, but there they were again. She heard the sound distinctly now. She was being followed. No doubt John’s henchmen had learned of a young “lad’s” visit to Hubert Walter.

Fight or flight? Rowena decided to trap her pursuer. Leading her horse to a tree, she climbed upon a high limb, then gave the animal a gentle pat on its behind. Just as she suspected, a horse and rider exploded into view as they raced after her horse in pursuit.

“Only one/?” She didn’t know whether to be relieved or insulted. Still, she didn’t have time to think about it long, for as the horse passed under the tree she dropped from the limb, grappling with the rider. Both fell to the ground, tumbling over and over. Rowena was winded and bruised. Gasping for breath, she called upon her inner strength to come to her aid. Struggling, she pinned her pursuer’s arms to the ground, then quickly stepping away, she reached for her bow.

“Oh, no! Oh dear!”

Something about the voice was recognizable. Staring into a rotund face, Rowena drew in her breath with shock. It was Humbley, Kendrick de Bron’s portly manservant.

“Please, let me go…I…I have no ….money pouch.”

Rowena’s stance was cocky as she was filled with renewed bravado. “You know there is a fee…”

“For riding through the forests, I know. But you see, I had to ride.”

“You were following me……”

“Nay!” The man was terrified. “I…..I escaped from Prince John, you see. Chadwick and I decided to ride in different directions. Home.”

Were she not so tired, were it not so late, had he not looked so thoroughly disgruntled, she might have had a bit of fun with him. As it was, Rowena gave the man a hand up and pushed him towards his horse. “Then go. I will not detain you.” When he hesitated she repeated. “Go!” Kendrick de Bron would have need of Humbley to do the work at the manor that he could not because of his wounds.

“Thank you.!” The man was earnestly grateful. Smiling, he hurried to his horse.

Whistling for her own mount, Rowena climbed upon his back and continued up the road that would take her to Grantham Manor.