The Winter Promise (11 page)

“Malcolm?” she gasped. Her cousin, her uncle’s eldest living son. “But what — ”

Then he smiled and she found herself caught up in his exuberant embrace. “The soldiers said there was a Welsh lady in the household,” he said. “I never expected it would be you. I thought you were in Canterbury.”

She lifted her head from where she’d buried it in his shoulder, clinging to him as if he might save her from her foolishness. “Simon died,” she said. “Have you not heard?”

Malcolm tilted her chin up, his bearded face thoughtful. “And have you contracted another betrothal?”

The coolness of the question warned her that she would find no sanctuary here. She stepped away, searching his eyes. She did not answer his question but asked one of her own. “You are one of the warriors Osbrycht captured?”

Malcolm’s face darkened. “Aye, but do not think it is because I lack the courage to die in battle.”

If that was not so like a man. She patted his arm. “I have never doubted your courage. You have been foolhardy since the time you could walk.”

He gave a reluctant smile. “Robert is not well pleased, for now he must feed and shelter us until a ransom can be negotiated — and that will be all winter.”

“Osbrycht is very proud,” Imma said carefully. “He would only think of the honor that would accrue to him for capturing Gruffydd’s fiercest warriors.”

“Aye,” Malcolm said again. “That is what he thinks.”

Imma nodded, swallowing against her dry throat. What did Malcolm plan? He had not been caught unawares by the likes of Osbrycht. She did not believe that.

“Is it this one?”

“What?” she asked.

“I had heard — ”

Her heart quickened as she understood the reason for his question about betrothal. If he thought she cared for Lord Robert, he would think she betrayed her own family. And he was hot-tempered —

“It’s not like that,” she said.

“I did not think it was,” he said, his face clearing. “Marrying a younger son with no lands is no use, Imma.”

Her heart skipped. “I know it.”

“So you cultivate the relationship for our advantage?”

She didn’t immediately answer but he smiled again anyway. “You forgot I have met Robert,” he said. “I cannot imagine any other reason you would tolerate his companionship.”

“I know my duty,” she said, her voice hoarse, her hands knotted in the fabric of her skirt.

“How came you here, if not for a betrothal?”

That was less dangerous. She took a deep breath and told him how she had come west from Canterbury with her friend Helen and Helen’s husband.

“And this Harold? What duty was he to discharge?”

“He was to require an accounting from Robert.”

“An accounting?” Malcolm demanded, pausing in his pacing. He fixed her with a piercing stare. “An accounting?”

“It’s not that the English king distrusts Robert,” Imma hastened to add.

Malcolm cocked an eyebrow at her, then rubbed his beard and said, “Perhaps not. Then what happened?”

Imma didn’t even think of not giving him the truth. She clasped her hands together and began to tell the tale. When her voice shook, Malcolm folded her into his arms again. The grief washed over her. Not just for Helen and Harold, but for all she had left behind, for the girl who had hoped to find affection in her marriage, for the knowledge that her future held exactly the same as her past.

Malcolm didn’t try to stop her tears, but held her close, warm and comforting and solid. He smoothed her hair with his hand and murmured, “I am so sorry, Imma.”

“I want to go home,” she whispered.

“Perhaps,” he said. “Perhaps we can find a way to make it so.”

Imma lifted her head. “How? Your father insists I must wed an English, as if that will make peace.”

“I am thinking of something,” Malcolm said, and she remembered how, from the time he was a small child, he would make such announcements before embarking on a grandly designed scheme. His schemes had oft-times met with disaster, but he was a grown man now, and she did not underestimate the danger he represented. “Tell me about this Harold,” he said.

“I don’t understand.”

“I’d like to know about this accounting. I find it curious that your party was set upon by thiefmen before it could be accomplished.”

A sickened feeling speared through Imma. She knew what Malcolm was getting at. “I don’t think Lord Robert could do such a thing.”

“No? Perhaps not.”

She took a step back out of the shelter of his arms. “What are you thinking?” she demanded.

“I am thinking about this accounting that you are so sure my lord Robert would not object to.”

“What is it?”

When he was younger, he could not wait to tell her, the words tumbling from his mouth. But now he shook his head.

“Malcolm?”

“I am considering what it means. This is very useful, Imma. I want you to do something for me.”

Her sickened feeling returned.

“What?”

“You need to learn what his greatest weaknesses are.”

He loves his horse more than any woman,
she thought.
He likes to listen to stories when he should be doing something else. He is a better lord than John, but does not know it.

None of that was what Malcolm wanted. He wanted military information, fortifications that were in disrepair, thanes who were untrustworthy.

“That is not something he is likely to share with me,” she said.

“You are a woman. You will find a way. Look, I cannot stay — I am not supposed to be here. But I will return. I expect you to do the duty I know my father charged you with.”

She didn’t respond.

“Imma?”

She lifted her head and glared at him. He must know what such a thing would cost her, the risk she would have to take.

“I would like you to return home, too,” he said, and kissed her cheek.

Sounds from outside caught Imma’s attention. She stopped and leaned out the window. Riders had returned. Picking up her skirts, she ran outside, arriving in the foreyard just as the company crossed through the gate in the earthworks. Other members of the household joined her on the stones, anxious and concerned. Which of the men had not returned this time? She held her breath as Osbrycht trotted in on his stallion, followed by a group of men, some of whom she recognized from the ring-giving. Stable boys darted forward to help the men dismount and to see to their horses. Imma stepped forward and grabbed Osbrycht’s reins. “Where is my lord?”

“He is lost,” Osbrycht said, barely sparing her a glance as he alighted from his charger.

“Lost!” Imma clutched Osbrycht’s arm as his words shattered against her heart. The world spun around her. “Lost?” She could hardly take her next breath but she forced herself to ask, “How — how did he fall?”

“He did not fall,” Osbrycht clarified, pulling loose from her grip. “Or, rather, no one saw him fall. He’s
lost
— in the forest. We don’t know what became of him.”

“You returned without your lord?” she demanded, handing the horse’s reins to a waiting stable hand and darting after Osbrycht, who was crossing the foreyard to the keep.

“Mistress, my men are exhausted and wounded. I will send a party of the stoutest men — ”

“I can’t believe you abandoned your lord!” she shouted, not caring who heard. “What kind of thanes do they have in this England? A Welsh warrior would die before abandoning his lord!”

“That is enough, mistress,” Osbrycht snapped, wheeling to face her. “Your Welsh warriors have tried to wrench the heart from Wessex. Hold your tongue.” He glared at her, then turned to enter the keep.

Swearing at Osbrycht’s retreating back, Imma dashed after him. But she did not attempt to pursue her argument with him. Elizabeth. Elizabeth had been charged with holding the keep. She would know what to do.

“Elizabeth! You must do something,” she said, storming into the other woman’s room, ignoring the dictates of polite behavior. But Elizabeth wasn’t there. Frantic, Imma threw open the door to the chapel. There. Elizabeth held a tray of altar utensils for the chaplain, who was inspecting the pieces before putting them away in the tabernacle.

“Elizabeth!” Imma called, hurrying toward the other woman. Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder, her brows drawn together in concern. “You must come quickly! Lord Robert has not returned — ”

Elizabeth dropped the tray, the silver chalices and candlesticks crashing to the floor. The chaplain looked more alarmed about the utensils than the news Imma brought, dropping to his knees to gather up the scattered pieces.

“Robert?” Elizabeth whispered, pressing a hand against her chest. “Imma, I feared it. I had a premonition — ” Her voice broke and she swayed. Imma ran forward to steady her as her knees buckled and she collapsed.

“Father!” Imma said sharply. “Help me with my lady.” The priest gave her a distracted glance but got to his feet and helped Imma support the older woman. They brought Elizabeth to her bed.

Then Imma summoned the physician and sent a servant to find Tilly. She sat on the edge of the bed staring down at her friend, holding Elizabeth’s cold hand between her own. It had never occurred to Imma that such a thing could happen to Elizabeth, that she could be utterly overwhelmed.

As the physician examined Elizabeth’s suddenly frail figure, a pale ghost beneath the covers, Imma chided herself for delivering the news so cruelly. Had she been more careful with her words, perhaps Elizabeth would not have collapsed and she could have ordered Robert’s men to search for him.

“It is her heart,” the physician said, looking up from his examination. “She must rest now, and not be harassed. She must not have any worry or anxiety whatsoever. I will leave a sleeping draught for her to be given if she becomes agitated. Please be careful not to alarm her.”

“It will be as you say,” Imma said.

“Imma.”

The words were barely more than a breath. Imma looked down and saw that Elizabeth had turned her head, and was blinking her pale blue eyes. “Robert — ”

“He will be fine,” Imma assured her, patting her hand. “I did not mean to alarm you! All will be well. I was overwrought, and I should have calmed myself before speaking with you.”

Elizabeth closed her eyes, as if the effort of listening was too much for her. A moment later, Tilly hurried into the room, breathless and bursting with questions. Imma steadied her with a warning look, reaching out to take her hand as the physician turned to her and repeated his findings and cautions. Tilly nodded her understanding, wide-eyed and sober, then asked a few quick questions, and dismissed him.

“Tilly, Lord Robert is missing,” Imma said, getting to her feet and drawing the other woman aside. Tilly gave a startled gasp and Imma quickly explained what she knew. “Will you look after Elizabeth while I see what I can do to assure his safe return?”

“Of course, Imma,” Tilly said. She squeezed Imma’s hand, then took Imma’s place on the edge of the bed. She reached for Elizabeth’s hand and held it in hers, just as Imma had. Satisfied that Elizabeth would be well looked after, Imma left the room, her mind racing. She must do something about Lord Robert, but what?

She would ride out to search for him but she did not know this country. If she became lost herself, that wouldn’t help anything. But neither could she just sit and pray or wait for others to act. She must do
something
. But what?

If only she knew this country a little better. If she were in Wales or even in Canterbury, she would know where to look, how to get home again. But Wessex was unfamiliar to her and she did not know enough about the land to trust that she could find Glastonbury forest again. She had never entered it from this direction and she scarce remembered the headlong flight through it that had brought her here.

Then she remembered that Lord Robert had a horse that
did
know this country. His black stallion, now lame, had traveled this part of Wessex with Lord Robert for many years. Hardly had the outline of a plan become clear to her when she darted down the hall to Lord Robert’s bedchamber and accosted his chamber-thane.

“My lord Robert’s dog,” she said, as Kenneth blinked and stared at her, a bundle of bed linens in his arms. “Where is his alaunt?” she asked urgently.

Kenneth nodded toward the corner where an animal curled, sleeping.

“What is his name?”

“Theox.”

Hunting-spear.
She smiled, her heart aching. If that was not so like Lord Robert. There was no subtlety in him. “My lord is missing,” she explained quickly. “I would like to use the animal to help me find him.”

“Lord Robert?” Kenneth blinked again. “Missing?”

“Yes. Sir Osbrycht says he did not command his men to find him because they are weary and wounded.”

Kenneth set the linen down and gave her a measuring look. “You intend to find him?” He did not sound scornful or condescending.

“Yes.”

He nodded at once. “You will need my lord’s scent.” It was a moment’s work for him to find a stocking belonging to Lord Robert, which she tucked in her sleeve. “Shall I call for a handler?” he asked. “Theox is high-spirited.”

“No, I can manage him,” she said. Her uncle’s household had always tumbled with dogs, all vying for first dog status and even as a young girl she had learned she must dominate them all. “Come, Theox.” The dog rose at her command and followed her as she left the room.

She stopped in the bedchamber she shared with Tilly, pausing only long enough to grab her cloak and belt. Throwing her cloak over her shoulders, she tied the belt around her waist as she hastened to the kitchen. Kenneth had gone ahead to warn the staff to prepare what she needed. As the cook gathered provisions, Imma tucked a waterskin into her belt, then added a tinderbox. Kenneth took the food from the cook and put it in a pack, which he handed to Imma with a nod of approval.

She pinned her cloak closed as she headed to the stable, Theox at her heels. She hesitated a moment, then saddled the gray palfrey. A hunter would be stronger and faster, but she needed to ride an animal she knew well, one that would obey her commands without challenging her. The palfrey suited her purpose perfectly.