Shari Anton - By Queen's Grace

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.”

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?”

Corwin propped himself up on an elbow. “Nay, merely training. A soldier learns to sleep where and when he can, and then with one ear open and one hand upon his sword. I heard you get up.”

“These other men are soldiers and they do not stir.”

“Nay, they do not. They must trust Duncan to raise an alarm if the need arises. I do not have their confidence in him, so I listen for anything that might threaten our safety.”

“Including me?”

With a low, rumbling laugh, he answered, “Especially you. Should you have a dagger hidden beneath your robe you might be tempted to slit our throats while we slept. Come toward me a few steps and you will find a patch of long grass that will make a more comfortable resting place than the one you chose.”

Judith hesitated to move any closer to Corwin, a man who she should consider more her enemy than the rebels. Though she’d heard his reasons for wanting to join the rebellion, she didn’t understand how he could so easily turn traitor. When this hopeless scheme failed-and it would come to grief as earlier Saxon rebellions had-Corwin would receive the same harsh punishment as the others.

If he lived through the battles. Or unless she convinced him to turn from this path he’d unwisely chosen.

Maybe some unresolved dispute between Corwin and Gerard had clouded Corwin’s judgment, making him susceptible to a rash decision to seek a means of revenge. But by hurting Gerard, Corwin also hurt Ardith, and. Judith knew he genuinely cared for his sister.

Judith thought back to the day they’d met. Corwin’s concern for Ardith had been very apparent, and part of the reason Judith had been so drawn to him. True, she’d experienced a female’s reaction to a handsome, well-puttogether male. A woman couldn’t possibly look on Corwin without noticing the brilliant blue of his eyes, the angled perfection of his strong chin or the seductive tilt of his smile.

His looks had captured her attention. His tender concern for Ardith had touched her heart. As much as her head said to be wary, her heart longed for another glimpse of the man he’d been then, the man Judith prayed Corwin could still be.

‘Twas a practical thing she hoped for. If she could sway Corwin, he might aid her escape. Deep down, she admitted she wanted Corwin back as he had been for her own sake, too. She simply couldn’t have so lacked in judgment as to have thought fondly of a man capable of villainy.

Slowly, she moved toward Corwin. His face became more visible and the shape of his prone body more pronounced as she drew nearer. No blanket covered his chain mail. His broadsword lay before him, just beyond his longfingered hand, within easy reach.

He raised that hand and pointed to a spot a mere few feet from him. “Your royal bower awaits you, my lady.”

Royal bower, indeed. His tone conveyed humor, as if he teased her over the rebels’ plan to make her a queen. Judith withheld a rebuke. Any hope of swaying Corwin might depend upon how well the two of them got along. At one time she’d harbored no doubts they: could deal with each other quite well. Now she wasn’t so sure, but needed to try.

She settled onto the grass, noting the truth of hisassertion of greater comfort. “My thanks, Corwin, for your thoughtfulness in pointing it out to me.”

“‘Tis not thoughtfulness but self-defense. Tomorrow will be a long day, if I guess correctly. I will get no sleep if your restlessness keeps me awake.”

Again she bristled. “How can any day possibly be longer than today?”

“Thurkillwill want to put as much distance between him and the sheriff of Hampshire as possible. We will need to take to the road, steal you a horse-”

“Steal? But that is unlawful,” she said, hearing the lack of sense in her statement as soon as the words left her lips. Of course the brigands would steal a horse from its owner, just as they’d stolen her from the abbey.

“—and find you a different gown to wear,” he continued. “You stand out rather sorely garbed in a nun’s robe. Anyone who sees you will notice and question your presence in the band.”