Shari Anton - By Queen's Grace

Corwin gave a brief thought to the company he’d led out of Wilmont, and hoped William would do as commanded and escort the wagons, lumber and carpenters to Cotswold. Then Corwin slid into line several paces behind Thurkill, knowing Gerard would approve of his abandoning that duty to take on this task of higher purpose.

Thurkill set a lively pace up the rough road, merely a wide path of dirt deeply rutted by wagon wheels. Corwin kept watch on Judith, who rode pillion behind Thurkill, just as he knew the two men behind him watched his every move.

As the morning wore on, watching Judith bounce on the horse’s rump became harder. She would be sore this night, as she’d been sore the night before. There was no help for it. To evade the sheriff, they must keep up the pace.

Nearing midday, Judith’s right hand released its hold on Thurkill’s hauberk. She made a fist and hit him hard on the shoulder. Corwin bit back a smile. Had Thurkill refused a request to halt one too many times?

Corwin urged his destrier forward to come alongside Thurkill. “I know of a cave not far ahead where we might take a rest.”

“I have no wish to rest. The sheriff-”

“Will not find us there. ‘Tis a truly secluded site.” Corwin shrugged, as if uncaring one way or the other. “I think of your horse, Thurkill. He carries a greater burden than the others. But if you wish to go on, I will not object”

“Aye, think of your horse, Thurkill,” Judith said in a sarcastic tone. “This burden he carries would be most pleased to cease bruising his boney backside.”

Thurkill rolled his eyes heavenward. Had Judith been giving the man an earful of complaints and snide remarks all morning? Possibly.

The victim of a kidnapping, Judith had every right to protest. Her mind-numbing, hand-trembling terror had passed, but not her fear. She used anger to mask it, but Corwin didn’t want her to goad Thurkill too hard. The man might be under orders to bring her safely to his lord, but every man had his limits. Coping for hours on end with Judith’s sharp tongue might be more than Thurkill could tolerate.

“The cave is but a few minutes away if you care for a respite,” Corwin said.

Thurkill studied him for a moment. “How do I know you do not lead us into the sheriff’s snare?”

“You do not know if I lead you into a trap, just as I do not. know if you lead me into one at journey’s end. You will have to trust my word.”

“Humph. How does one villain learn to trust another?” Judith interjected. “Neither of you deserves anyone’s trust.”

Through clenched teeth, Thurkill ordered, “Find the cave.”

After a few moments of searching, Corwin found the overgrown path he sought, and at its end, the cave. Brush hid the mouth of the cavern located halfway up a steep hill. A stream bubbled along at the base. The narrow sloping path from the stream to the cave proved a challenge for the horses, but all made it up without incident.

Corwin dismounted, planning to help Judith down from Thurkill’s horse. Oswuld beat him to it. ‘Twasprobably for the best. The less he had to deal with Judith just now, the better. Her hands pressed into her back, she walked stiffly toward the mouth of the cave, with Oswuld a step behind her.

“How know you this place?” Duncan asked, his voice echoing in the large chamber. “‘Tisrather far from where you say you live.”

Corwin noted the suspicious undertone in Duncan’s question. “‘Tis far, but a friend and I once used this cave to shelter from a storm. Luckily, Stephen knew of its existence.”

“Thiscompanion you speak of must travel much to know of so remote a spot.”

Corwin slid his hands from his riding gloves, thinking of Stephen, his best friend and Gerard’s youngest brother. Aye, Stephen liked to travel, rush headlong into one adventure after the other. Corwin had gleefully joined him on several of his journeys.

“He does love to travel, more than most men I know.”

Duncan huffed. “He must be a Norman, then, to have the coin and time to waste roaming about the land.”

Stephen did, but on that particular journey Stephen had performed a valuable service for Gerard, and Richard, their half brother. Having acquired several new holdings in a court judgment, Gerard had given most of the land to his brothers. Stephen had offered to visit all the holdings, determine the condition of each, then report on which needed repairs or where the people needed immediate assistance.

The Norman who’d previously owned the lands had been a cruel man, and Corwin saw firsthand how the peasants had suffered, then witnessed their joy when told they’d been placed under Wilmont protection. None had truly cared which brother became overlord. Each man had a reputation for fairness, even benevolence.

True, most Normans looked to their own wealth and comfort and never noticed any hardship suffered by the people who provided for them. Telling Duncan that some Normans could be generous and honorable, however, wouldn’t aid Corwin’s ruse.

“Aye, the Normans are a selfish, cruel race,” Corwin proclaimed. “‘Twas a sad day for England when King Harold lost the battle to Duke William of Normandy.”

Duncan’s mouth twisted into a sneer. “When the bastard invaded England he killed or maimed all who would not submit to his rule, burned crops and forests and huts at will until those country folk left could barely survive. A sad day for England, indeed.”

Corwin now knew with certainty from where Duncan hailed. Only in the far north had the Conqueror taken such drastic measures to bring the old Saxon earls to heel. Corwin’s ancestors hadn’t joined in any rebellion, but had accepted the Conqueror as king and pledged fealty to the man the new king declared their overlord. The transfer of power had been peaceful, so unlike the experience of Duncan’s family.

Corwin laid a hand on his destrier’s neck, a fine example of Wilmont’s herd. He’d benefited greatly from Norman rule. Would he be less complacent if his ancestors had lost everything, if his Norman overlord had been less honorable?

“This lord you follow, he has a plan to overtake the kingdom without any of the peasants suffering?” Corwin asked.

“Aye. We must first be rid of King Henry. Then the barons will give way in due course.”

Duncan, clearly, knew nothing of the ways of war and less of Norman barons. Even with the king vanquished, the Normans wouldn’t give way. Each would defend his strongest castle and challenge the Saxons for possession. A battle for the entire kingdom would be fought castle by castle, with the peasants suffering the most.

“Father!” Oswuld cried out as he ran into the cave. “She is gone! Lady Judith-I cannot find her!”

A cold fist gripped Corwin’s innards.

“You were supposed to be guarding her!” Thurkill shouted.

“I allowed her privacy to take relief and she slipped away.”

Cursing himself roundly for not anticipating this attempt at escape, knowing which way he would go if in Judith’s situation, Corwin bolted out of the cave, hoping to get there ahead of her.

She couldn’t find the path.

With hands on her hips, Judith slowly turned in a full circle, looking carefully for any sign of her escape route. Four horses had ridden through this area not long ago, trampled down the grass and pushed aside brush. The path had to be here somewhere, and she must find it quickly before Oswuld noticed she’d fled.

Her plan was a simple one. Find the road and head north toward whatever town lay ahead. Send someone to take word of the rebellion to Scotland. Enlist a trustworthy person to act as her guide to London. Surely her kidnappers expected her to flee south, back toward the safety of the abbey. But she could trick her kidnappers, if only. she could find the path.