By Queen's Grace (15 page)

Before anyone could take up his challenge, Corwin turned back to Oswuld, who’d picked up his sword. “There, you see, Oswuld? You are a braver man than any
of them for merely standing within my reach. Now come, put your sword back up and let us try it again.”

Once more, Oswuld blocked a thrust, and another. He held on through blow after blow, and even took the offensive a time or two. This time around no one in the crowd jeered, but cheered each successful move.

The lesson ended with Oswuld feeling more sure of himself and Corwin confident the lad could better defend himself. With the session over, the crowd dispersed. Ruford lingered to talk to one of his captains.

Oswuld wiped his brow with the sleeve of his tunic. “My thanks.”

“Mayhap we can do it again on the mom.”

“If I am here on the morn.”

Keeping one eye on Ruford, Corwin slid home his sword, and made the decision he’d been putting off-to tell Oswuld of his own plan to leave the encampment. Oswuld wasn’t devoted to the rebellion. Indeed, he planned to desert as soon as Thurkill died. Oswuld certainly wouldn’t feel duty or honor bound to inform Ruford or one of the captain’s of Corwin’s intentions.

Too, if they were all leaving, ‘twas best done together. Once Oswuld’s escape route was put to use, and likely then discovered, ‘twould be dangerous or impossible to use it again. Best he and Judith leave when Oswuld left, though Corwin wasn’t quite ready to tell Oswuld that he’d have company during his escape.

He spoke softly. “Oswuld, I have been thinking about what you said, about leaving to take your father home. I ask no details about where you go, but would like to know how you plan to achieve the feat.”

Oswuld’s guard went up. “I should tell you no tales, Corwin. If you intend to take Ruford’s place-”

“Nay, not I. Your father presents a good case. I have no
wish to be a king. In fact, I am no longer sure I want any more part of this rebellion than you do.”

“You find the army lacking.”

“I find many things that disturb me more than the lack of discipline and training among the men. The captains are divided, and so then are the men. ‘Twould take more than the time Ruford allows to pull them into a unified army.”

After a pause, Oswuld said, “Father will be disappointed.”

Corwin clasped the lad on the shoulder. “Then we will not tell him. Do you need help? I assume you will need someone to ready the horses for you at a moment’s notice.”

Oswuld looked around for ears that might hear. “You may as well know there are others at Norgate who feel as I do about the rebellion. I do not act alone.”

Corwin showed no surprise. Indeed, whenever any army sat idle for too long men became discouraged and disinterested. Desertion followed.

Dragging information out of Oswuld was proving hard. But there was really only one thing Corwin needed to know-the escape route.

“Should I decide to abandon this rebellion, 1 would prefer to take the easiest path. Since you have already scouted it out, will you show me?”

“If you wish, but ‘tis really quite simple. Behind the tapestry in the master bedchamber is a stairway that leads down to the lowest level of the keep. Naturally, there is a doorway at the bottom.”

Not a rare thing-a hidden stairway by which a lord might escape if disaster seemed imminent.

“How did you learn of it?”

“Quite by accident. I shall have to be sure Ruford is not abed when I leave or things may become awkward.”

“True,” Corwin agreed. “And once out the doorway?”

“The stable is but a few yards away, so getting to the horses without being noticed is rather easy. After that, one must depend upon speed and stealth.” Oswuld looked toward the stable and the earthen berm beyond-a barrier easily ridden over, but one patrolled by guards. “Far fewer men are camped in that direction than near the front gate of the keep. Too, the woodland is closer. If done at night, and timed rightly, few will notice.”

By using the stairway, Oswuld come remove his father’s body from the keep without passing through a crowd of people in the great hall. He could also get to the stables without crossing the expanse of the bailey, thus avoiding curious attention he didn’t want. Once on horseback, Oswuld would depend upon speed and stealth to cross over the berm and the field beyond to reach the woodland, and a measure of safety.

Corwin thought it a decent plan.

Ruford hadn’t yet left the yard. And if anyone questioned Corwin’s presence on the keep’s upper floor, he could claim he went up to visit Thurkill.

“Oswuld, I want a look at this stairway.”

The bedchamber was dark. The shutters were closed, allowing little light to seep through the cracks. Corwin shut the door behind him and stood still a moment, letting his eyes adjust.

He was tempted to search the room, to find any papers or other proof of his suspicions of which lords backed Ruford. Rolled parchments crowded a table. Two chests hugged the far wall. Both tempted him to take a closer look.

Corwin took a deep breath and set his resolve. Maybe he would look, but not until he’d found the door and explored the passageway. ‘Twould do him no good to learn who aided Ruford if he couldn’t escape to tell the tale.

As in the room given Judith, a tapestry covered the wall behind an ornate bed. According to Oswuld, the door was behind the tapestry in the far corner. Corwin crossed the room with short steps, holding his sword hilt so it wouldn’t clang against his chain mail. No one knew he’d entered the chamber but Oswuld, and Corwin preferred to keep it that way.

He pushed aside the tapestry, and as Oswuld had said, there was the door. He grabbed the latch and pushed downward. It didn’t move far enough to unlatch. He tried the opposite direction with the same result.

Locked.

Corwin eased his hand along the edges and top of the door, but didn’t find a key.

He opened the shutters a crack for light, inspecting them while he did so. Not there.

Corwin put his hands on his hips, glanced around the room and whispered, “If I wanted to hide a key.”

Carefully, he rummaged about in Ruford’s trunks. Clothing, shoes, a dagger-but no key.

He crossed to the table and cautiously searched among the various papers and rolled parchments. He couldn’t help reading a few of them, but one in particular caught his interest. A list of names.

Ruford’s allies?

Nay, more likely those who Ruford intended to attack first, for at the top of the list was Clovis, Lord of Norgate. Corwin was now standing in that man’s bedchamber. He noted that Wilmont wasn’t on the list, then set it aside.

He’d decided to search the bed next when he heard footsteps on the stairway. Quickly, he closed the shutters. As he was deciding whether or not to dive under the bed, the footsteps stopped outside of the other chamber door. He
heard a knock, then Ruford’s voice asking for admittance. Then Judith’s voice, bidding him enter.

True, the exchange caught Corwin unprepared. Judith admitted Ruford into her chamber only to see Thurkill. Even knowing that Thurkill occupied the bed and that several other people were also visiting the chamber, Corwin intensely disliked having Ruford so close to Judith.

Soon, he vowed, he’d have Judith out of Norgate and far from Ruford Clark.

Corwin decided he’d best leave Ruford’s chamber before getting caught, perhaps come back when he knew the man was occupied elsewhere.

Unfortunately, another search would probably prove just as fruitless. Likely the man who now called this bedchamber his own, who would use the stairway if his rebellion was discovered and he was forced to abandon the keep, had the key on him.

J
udith tilted her face toward the sunshine, thinking maybe Ruford had the right of it-that she needed a walk and fresh air. She hadn’t been out of the keep since her arrival at Norgate. Unfortunately, she also remembered that her desire to escape the gloom of close confines had gotten her into this muddle in the first place. If she’d stayed within the abbey, she might not be here.

Ruford walked at her side in quiet contemplation. If not for his mood, she might enjoy the outing. He had more on his mind than her health, and she doubted she would like whatever subject he was working up the courage to broach. He’d come up to the bedchamber and suggested this walk. Refusing would have been easy had not both Thurkill and Oswuld urged her to go. Oswuld especially. For some reason he’d been supportive of Ruford’s plan. Enthusiastic, one might say.

Judith had to smile at Oswuld’s obvious pride at how well he’d done in the practice yard. She’d watched the greater part of his session with Corwin from the window, giving Thurkill reports on his son’s progress while admiring Corwin’s methods. Patiently, methodically, he’d taken
Oswuld through the most fundamental of moves, then allowed his pupil to set the pace in the rest of the session.

Corwin could have badly embarrassed Oswuld with a show of superior skills before a rapt audience. Instead, he’d placed Oswuld’s needs first. Standing at the window, with an aching head and unsettled stomach, she’d realized how terribly foolish she’d been to doubt him last eve. During their entire journey, Corwin had always put others’ needs before his own, with the possible exception of refusing to enter the encampment with covered eyes.

Corwin could have pushed Thurkill to an even earlier grave, but had allowed the old man to make the journey at his own pace. And with her, well, she could recount each time he’d eased her fears, bolstered her resolve or made her smile. Aye, he’d made her angry, too, as he had last eve by goading her into reciting
Beowulf.
Even that he’d done to protect her as best he could.

She’d drank too much wine. So had Ruford. The results could have been disastrous.

Corwin’s goal then, as now, was to save England from the ravages of a war, to defend the crown in the best way he knew how.

Thurkill may have asked Corwin to usurp Ruford’s place within the rebellion, but Corwin wouldn’t do it. Even now he must be off somewhere either gathering information or planning their escape. He’d come into the keep with Oswuld, but not up to the bedchamber. She hadn’t seen him in the hall when she’d passed through on her way out-ofdoors, either.

Escape couldn’t come soon enough to suit her. Leaving Thurkill would be hard. Oswuld, too. Duncan she wouldn’t miss in the least, nor Ruford. She wished she could help Corwin. Somehow, merely staying close to Thurkill, as
Corwin had told her to do, didn’t seem like enough. But if that’s what he expected of her, she should get back to it.

They’d wandered across the bailey toward the stables.

“Ruford, is my mare in here?” she asked.

“What? Oh, aye. Care to have a look?”

Judith needed no more encouragement. She entered the stables and found the mare easily, ensconced in a stall between Corwin’s destrier and Thurkill’s steed. Oswuld’s horse stood beyond Thurkill’s.

“Ah, my Beauty. Have they been treating you well? I fear I have not had the time to look in on you as I should,” she said, warning the mare of her approach. Judith squeezed into the stall between the wooden half wall and the horse, and stroked the mare’s neck. “I should have brought a treat for you. An apple, perhaps. Mayhap next time I come.”

And maybe next time they could go for a ride-a very long ride, far away from Norgate.

“A fine horse. From where did she come?” Ruford asked.

Not an odd question, but one asked in an odd tone. She knew from which estate Corwin had bought her, but unsure of Ruford’s purpose, merely shrugged a shoulder.

“I forget the name. I was so delighted to have a horse to myself that I paid little heed to much else. Is it important?”

“Not for the moment, but might be later if we have need of horses,” he said. “This one comes from excellent stock. I may wish to call upon the owner.”

Call upon the owner, indeed. Ruford thought to raid Aimsley for its herd of horses. She would have to warn Corwin to have a care with the estate’s name.

A snuffle from the next stall brought back her good mood.

“Think you deserve a pat, too, do you?” she chided
Corwin’s destrier, daring to raise a hand to the warhorse’s nose. He accepted her touch, even leaned closer. For an animal trained for aggression, to kill an enemy if need be, he seemed to crave an affectionate pat.

“Now this one I know comes from Wilmont,” she told Ruford. “Mayhap you should call upon Baron Gerard and purchase several of his horses.”

“When I am king, I shall simply demand them.”

“Ah, but if you become king, then Corwin will be Wilmont’s baron. You did grant Corwin his prize of Wilmont, did you not?” Ruford’s nod was hesitant. “‘Twould not be politic to demand so high a price from a man who helped you obtain the throne.”

He crossed his arms. “Yet it is politic of Corwin to demand the high price of Wilmont from his king?”

“You are not yet king, Ruford. Do not assume yourself victorious before the final battle is won.”

“You do not yet believe I shall win, do you?”

She didn’t want to argue this with Ruford. She’d given him her views on the matter yesterday, and would soon be gone.

“Mayhap, with Corwin’s help.”

Which he wouldn’t have, because Corwin wouldn’t be here, either.

“The men will fight when I tell them to. I need you more than I need Corwin. ‘Tis time we set a date for our wedding.”

Ah, yes. The infamous marriage. That’s why he’d brought her out here. Ruford could set almost any date he wished. His intended bride wouldn’t be participating:

Judith gave the destrier’s nose a final pat and turned to look at Ruford. “What date did you have in mind?”

“Tomorrow.”

Stunned, she blurted, “Impossible!”
“Why so? I see no reason to wait.”

Judith did, but few she could give him.

“Thurkill lies dying in my chamber. Surely ‘twould be an affront to all decency to.celebrate before a proper mourning period is over.”

Ruford shook his head. “Judith, he could die tonight, or three days from now. I truly do not care when, though I wish he would hurry about the business. Besides, would you not prefer to marry while he still lives, so he might see you happily wed?”

She searched for more reasons. “‘Tis impossible to have a proper wedding on such short notice. There are invitations to send, a feast to organize.” She held out the skirt of her amber gown. “I need a proper gown. Truly, Ruford, I need time-”

He brushed her objections away with the wave of a hand. “We will send no invitations. I fear your idea of a proper wedding must wait until after we are in a position to invite guests. In the meantime, a priest and a wedding feast must suffice, both easily arranged.” He looked her over, a wicked smile crossing his face. “As for what you wear, I care not, for after the feast I will have it off you. ‘Tis a task I look forward to completing. Come out of there, my love, and we shall have a taste of future delight.”

Judith couldn’t think of anything that repelled her more.

Ruford stretched his hand toward her and she reacted instinctively. She retreated, backing into the solid wall of the stable. Oh, she’d done it now. The only way out of the stall was past a man who looked at her as if she were a tasty morsel.

He chuckled. “Your innocence betrays you. ‘Tis endearing, if not taken to extreme. What harm a kiss or two?”

She wasn’t all that innocent. She’d kissed Corwin and
would do so again in a trice if he beckoned. Now, if only Corwin would happen to come into the stable.

“What if someone should see?” she protested.

“We are to be wed, Judith. No one would think odd a show of affection between lovers. Besides, there is no one around to bear witness.”

“No one?”

“Not a soul. I could toss up your skirts and have you in the straw and no one would be the wiser.”

His expression changed. Mercy, he was contemplating his threat.

“I will not have it,” she said, crossing her arms. “I will not be treated like some trollop. Truly, Ruford, ‘tis shameful of you to tease me so.”

“Tease? Look who teases! Do you know, when you cross your arms thus, you lift your breasts, inviting a man to touch them?”

Immediately, she lowered her arms. “I do no such thing.”

Her words had no effect; he continued to stare at her bosom. Then he lunged for her.

Judith’s shriek mingled with the angry cry of Corwin’s destrier. Her mare echoed the destrier’s cry and shifted, her backside pinning Ruford against the side of the stall.

The destrier snorted and kicked at the wall twice, then a third time for good measure.

Fully sobered, Ruford shoved at the mare’s rump and made his escape before the destrier’s hoof drove through the plank, sending shards of wood everywhere.

People flooded into the stable at the commotion. Stable boys, maids, soldiers-and Corwin. Relieved, and feeling rather foolish, Judith leaned her head against her mare’s neck and stayed put.

Corwin gave her a quick glance, then calmed his horse.

Ruford angrily brushed at the sleeves of his tunic. “That beast of yours is dangerous,” he grumbled.

After a brief burst of disbelieving laughter, Corwin said, “He is a warhorse, Ruford, and is trained to be dangerous. Surely you should have known better than to annoy him. What happened?”

Judith was sure Corwin knew very well what had happened, and she would likely receive another warning about being alone with Ruford.

“Nothing,” Ruford stated. “I merely extended a hand to aid Judith out of the mare’s stall and your horse took offense.”

“Ah, well, that explains it then. He does have a good eye for a pretty mare. Mayhap he thought you were about to take Beauty away and made his objection clear.”

Judith knew better. The destrier had picked up on her fear and anger, as most horses could. Unlike others, however, the destrier had been trained to react to what he perceived as danger. Corwin knew it. Ruford surely did, too, but accepted Corwin’s offer of a gracious explanation.

Ruford waved a beckoning hand. “Judith, come out of there, carefully, before this beast goes berserk again.”

“Aye, my lady,” Corwin said, reaching into the stall. “Have a care for the sharp wood, and
do
ware the beast.”

She took Corwin’s hand, very aware that Ruford watched and disapproved, but she didn’t care. All she wanted to do was run back to the keep, up to the bedchamber, and stay there until Corwin came for her.

Emma, skirts flying behind her, ran into the stable and aided Judith’s cause, though not in a way she might have liked. “My lady, Oswuld requests you come quickly,” she said. “‘Tis Thurkill, he.fades.”

Judith opened the bedchamber door, fearing the worst.

Oswuld sat in the chair that had become a permanent
fixture by Thurkill’s bedside and was rarely unoccupied. With a resigned smile, he looked down at his father. Thurkill’s eyes were open.

Pale and gaunt, the old man watched her close the door behind her.

“Ah, my lady,” he said breathlessly, as though a heavy weight bore down on his chest. “Good…you came.”

Thurkill tried to lift a hand, but the effort proved too much. Determined to get through whatever was to come with some dignity, Judith plastered a smile on her face and perched on the edge of the bed.

“Where else would I go, pray tell? You did urge me to go for a walk, but knew I would come right back. We ended our walk at the stable. I saw my mare. She stands next to your horse, quite snug in her stall. I think she expects us to come for them all at any moment and be off on our journey again.”

Her babbling embarrassed her but amused Thurkill.

“Journey.not so.bad.”

“I beg to differ. I should not care to repeat such a trip anytime soon. My backside is still bruised, though the calluses on my fingers begin to soften.”

“Must give.thanks.”

“For what? My softening calluses?”

“Beowulf.”
He said the word as if in prayer.

“He heard every word, my lady,” Oswuld said. “Father even said some of the lines with you. I did not know that he knew the poem.”

“Learn much.serving ale.”

“Too much,” Oswuld rejoined. “If you had not overheard those mercenaries discussing this rebellion.ah, no matter. What is done is done.”

Thurkill’s expression turned earnest. “Not done. Judith. Corwin. finish.”

“Aye, Corwin will finish it,” Oswuld said. “That is all you ever wanted, was it not-to see a Saxon sit on the throne?” Thurkill nodded then closed his eyes. Oswuld continued, “You have worked very hard for it, given everything a man has to give. ‘Twould be glorious if-”

Thurkill’s face eased into peaceful repose, but not into sleep. Oswuld put his hand on his father’s chest. It didn’t move.

Judith looked away and pressed her lips together so hard they hurt. Oswuld held his emotions back with a shaky grip. She’d not be the one to break his hold.

The young man took a deep breath. “-if your dream came true. But ‘tis not to be, I fear. Even now, Corwin talks of leaving, as we are.” With those words, Oswuld rose from the chair.

Judith marveled at his calm. Something within her screamed for Thurkill to come back for another hour, a day, a little more time. She couldn’t imagine what agony Oswuld must suffer.

He ran a hand through his hair. “My lady, I ask you to tell no one just yet. I have.arrangements to make first.”

Judith got to her feet. “Where are you going?” she managed to ask.

“To find Corwin, then to the stable. And then I am taking my father home.”

Oswuld turned and left, slamming the door behind him. She hoped he would find Corwin quickly, before he fell apart. Corwin would help Oswuld with whatever needed doing.

As for Thurkill, he had passed beyond all pain and need. For so many days she’d nursed him-talked to him, fed
him, changed bedding. Her chores had come to an end with his final breath.