by C. C. Wiley
Clarice twisted to see who stood outside the chamber. Her eyes watered when Annora dug her fingers into her shoulder.
“Yes, m’lord. I regret I did not fulfill his last request before his death,” the peddler murmured.
“You serve the new lord of Margrave now,” Robert ground out. “Show me your wares. I warn you, I will not be trifled with. Ladies, I shall return to finish our discussion.” He flicked the chamber door shut.
Clarice flinched at the thump of the rope as it swung over the rafter. Her breath caught, her body rebelling against her efforts to control the fear. Please God, let that be my peddler.
* * *
Ranulf dropped another bag of wheat into the wagon. The thought of Clarice in danger made his vision redden with rage. If only they would have let him enter the room, see if she was there. The need to strangle Robert prancing in front of him was encompassing. Carving an extra hole in the rat-faced man’s gullet would be a pleasure, too.
Gods! He wanted to toss everything out of his cart and run to Clarice. Yet how was he to be in two places at once?
Although violently aware Clarice needed him, he kept within his role. He must maintain the most important reason for being at the manor. ’Twas his duty. To stop the plot against his king, he must find the ringleader. In all that he had seen in his time as a knight, he had never seen one more unsuited to lead a revolt. Robert was unstable.
Ranulf had worked with venomous, clay-brained men before. Those without morals. No conscience to contend with at the end of the day. He had even enjoyed their company at times. Knowing what they were capable of, he had not been dealt surprises. Until now.
This one standing beside him, treating him as if he was offal stuck to the bottom of his boot, had no idea what consequences would soon befall him. Ranulf would find pleasure in seeing this one receive the king’s justice.
Robert began his complaints anew. “I won’t pay a penny more for your goods.”
“Have you nothing on which we can barter?”
Ranulf recognized the smallish man standing beside Robert. He had been the one to bring news of Clarice’s attack against Robert.
The man nudged Robert with his elbow. “Offer him what’s below in the cellar, my lord. You cannot carry it all with you, no how.”
Robert glanced up at the sun as if to tell the time of day. “My man has a point. We have a cask or two of wine to trade.”
“English wine?” Ranulf pursed his lips and shook his head. “’Tis no good to me. Now French wine . . .” He rubbed his hands together. “For that I’d give you all in my cart.”
Before he knew it, he was standing before a cart filled with casks of wine. The markings were identical to the one found in the remnants of the orphanage. He rapped his knuckles on a few of the wooden barrels. His suspicions were confirmed. The first few casks were filled with wine; the rest were empty.
His thoughts raced to Clarice as he hastened to take his leave. His return must go unnoticed if he was to free her from Robert’s hold.
Less than ten paces outside the gate, he drew his cart behind the wall. He turned at the sound of cracking twigs. Darrick and Nathan led their horses through the dry brush. Hamish sat on Nathan’s horse, his short legs bent in an angle as he clung to his perch. To Ranulf’s surprise, Erwina rode behind the boy. Her bony white knees stuck out from under her skirt as she lifted her leg to slide off Darrick’s mount. She stopped when she caught his glare. She understood his meaning and stayed where she was.
They drew close enough for them to whisper.
Hamish searched the wooded area. “Where is she?”
“I think they keep her in the master’s bedchamber,” Ranulf said.
He cast a pointed look at Darrick and Nathan. “I had no idea you meant to bring the whole of Sedgewic with you.”
“Settle your ire,” Nathan said. “We found Mistress Erwina walking the trail. We couldn’t let the poor woman wander the countryside unescorted. What of her virtue?”
Ranulf snorted. He should have known she, too, would not heed his orders to stay behind. She had worried herself into a frenzy by the time he and his men had returned from their search for Robert. It wasn’t until he swore he would form a party to look for the wayward lady that she broke her silence regarding Clarice’s past.
He lifted the castellan of Sedgewic off the horse, motioning her to keep silent. He pointed in the direction of the manor. “I wager they aim to leave within the hour. Stay here until they do. Follow them until you discover the ringleader’s identity.”
“Think you ’tis not our Robert?” Darrick asked.
“His mind may be pockmarked with evil, but he hasn’t the fortitude to lead men into battle.”
“Many a madman has led lost souls to the devil,” said Darrick.
“I don’t think this one can think for himself, let alone for others. Follow him. Keep him close. He may circle back if he fears Annora has not done his bidding.”
Nathan’s green eyes glittered as they bore into the shadows of the manor. “Your lady?”
“She remains. But I fear not for long.”
Hamish nudged the horse closer. “How could you leave her?”
Ranulf excused his brash tongue. He understood his concern. Had the boy not listened to his inner voice, they would never know what had befallen Clarice. Hamish had followed her and found her horse tied in a grove of great oak trees. Waiting all through the night for a sign, when he saw the light in the tower he knew she needed their help. For once the boy made a well-thought decision. He rode his little pony hard until he met their party.
Ranulf reached out and squeezed Hamish’s ankle. “’Tis a good friend she has in you.”
Darrick motioned for Ranulf to head back to the manor. “We’ll keep the lad with us. He’ll be safe until we meet again.”
Erwina placed a hand on his forearm. “I shall come with you. There may be some who require my skill.”
Saluting the men and child, Ranulf made his way back to the gate. This time he would not make a sound. Erwina followed suit, joining him in the shadow of his footsteps.
Just as they were nearing the gate, a single rider, along with a horse and cart, raced out. The cart creaked and rattled with its heavy load. Ranulf smiled. Darrick and Nathan would have no problem in following those two.
His resolve bolstered, he retraced his steps to the master’s chamber. He and Erwina stopped at an alcove off the hall. “Stay put.”
Erwina nodded, waving him on.
He opened the door to the chamber and his heart lurched to a halt.
The dung-coated stool lay toppled on its side. The rope dangled from the rafters. The empty noose swayed in the breeze.
Ranulf staggered under the weight of the catapult launched at his head. With the hood of his cloak pressed to his ears, his hearing muffled, he barely understood the words that flew about his head.
“I knew you’d come back,” Clarice cried. “I knew I could depend on you for my rescue. You, of all people, would never leave me to this vermin. Ah, my darling peddler, how shall I repay you?”
Ranulf lifted her hands from his ears. How could she entrust her life to her bloody peddler? Damn, but he would not play court jester to that character, even if it were he who played the role. His need to have her clinging to him with desire roared inside his head. Unfair his heart raged. ’Tis the peddler she clings to, not me.
Until Clarice pressed her cheek to his chest, he had every intention of scolding her for running way. Now, with her heart beating against his, he was capable of nothing more than holding her tight. His heart nearly burst when her tears dampened his jerkin. Her body shook as if she were about to shatter.
He tilted her chin so that he might have access to her lips. He drenched the salt-laced mouth with his love and then pulled away. It pained him to know her kisses were not for him. Nor was her offer of love. How she must hate him. She had run from him. Would she run again if she knew ’twas he who held her?
He smoothed her hair and let the silken strands wrap around his fingers. He gently pried her from his chest and placed her out of reach. Keeping his face in the shadows of his hood, he whispered in a falsetto voice, “Annora of Margrave. Where is she, my lady?”
* * *
Ranulf knelt beside Annora. She rocked back and forth, mumbling a prayer. Beside her lay an open book of hours. He lifted the woman’s balled fist. One by one, he pried open the fingers until a gold chain slid from her hand.
Clarice knelt beside him. Tears glistened and slid down her cheeks. “’Tis my fault,” she said. “In an act of desperation, I gave her the necklace.”
Ranulf lifted an auburn brow in puzzlement.
“’Twas hers. I thought to return it. To make amends for the past.”
Clarice smoothed a strand of hair out of Annora’s face. “My mother, Angelica, pulled it and broke it as she fell down the stairs. She had put it in her prayer book on the day of my birth, which was the day she died. It, combined with all other revelations, must have been Annora’s undoing.” Clarice paused to wipe a tear from her jaw. “Robert murdered our father.”
Ranulf started to draw Clarice into his embrace. Before he touched her, though, he hesitated, as if scrambling for a safe footing. For the first time since his childhood, he was unsure of himself. Even in his unhappy marriage, he had known he had a right to fulfill his wedding vows. He had a right to demand access to the wedding bed. With Clarice, he wanted more. He wanted her to demand he love her until the end of time. Yet how could she, when she did not know him?
Ranulf stood and looked out the narrow slit in the wall. How was he to untangle the knot of intrigue his own hand had made of this predicament? Frustrated, filled with jealousy of his own making, he struck the windowsill.
Behind him, he heard a rustle of skirts, but he did not turn. How was he to expose his identity and keep her trust intact?
Clarice tugged on the hood of his cloak. His joints stiffened, then went to liquid when she wrapped her arms around his waist. His muscles heated with each soft word she pressed into his back. Turning slowly, Ranulf could no longer deny himself the answer.
“What did you say?” he asked, surprised to hear his own voice, hoarse with emotion.
She reached up and moved the hood of his cloak out of the way. “I was saying a prayer, thanking my father for sending me to find my red wolf.”
She tugged at the auburn hair that had escaped his cloak. “I much prefer seeing where to place my lips, Ranulf, Lord of Sedgewic.”
He lifted her off her feet and spun her around, raining kisses on her lips.
Erwina ran into the chamber with a candlestick raised over her head. “Oh! I beg your pardon.” Her weapon dropped to her side. “Oh, dear, ’tis Annora?”
Ranulf nodded in answer to Erwina.
Holding Clarice close, he turned her so that she might never have to look upon the broken woman lying on the floor. He kissed the top of Clarice’s head. “I would spend an eternity holding you as we are now. But we must prepare to join the others.”
Clarice gasped and grabbed Ranulf’s cloak. “The king! Robert must be stopped.”
“We’ll stop him before he can end another life. The others are looking for him now.”
“Others?”
“Hamish rides with Darrick and Nathan. None could be persuaded to stay at Sedgewic and await word of your return.”
Awakened from her trembling, Annora pushed up from the floor. Her eyes blazed with hatred. “Harlot! I won’t let you take my love from me again, Angelica.”
Erwina called out Ranulf’s name as he caught sight of a blurred shape flying across the room. He tucked Clarice behind him as Annora launched forward.
A scramble of legs and arms ensued. Ranulf positioned his arms across Annora’s back and pressed her face into the floor. He looked up from where he lay across the bucking woman. “It seems we must find our quarry before he finds us.”
Chapter 34
Clarice knelt before the small stone marking her father’s grave. The shadows from the trees overhead deepened her weariness. Her heavy heart made it difficult to breathe. Never in all her dark imaginings of revenge could she have guessed there would be pain in exacting justice. They had taken Annora to the chamber in the tower. Her sorrow echoed down the stairway, giving Clarice pause. She could not help wondering why the people of Margrave never had broken from their ranks and helped Clarice escape her own prison.
She told herself and all who would listen that she preferred the silence and solitude of the garden. But its beauty was lost. Now all she wished for was the comfort she found in Ranulf’s embrace. That, too, however, had shadows that haunted her in the solace of the garden.
She heard the snap of twigs breaking underfoot. The roll of pebbles scattered with each step. She was unafraid. Those who walked the garden path did not mean her harm.
“Forgive me, my lady, but I thought we might speak while the men are busy.”
Clarice smiled up at Mistress Erwina. She motioned for the woman to join her. “Come. Sit, if you will.”
Erwina glanced at the ground. A reluctant grimace flashed, immediately replaced with a smile as she gathered her skirts.
Clarice noticed her hesitation. For the first time she realized Erwina’s age was not much less than Maud’s. “Stop,” she said. “I have a need to move my legs. Mayhap we shall stroll through the garden.”
Erwina eyed the weed-strewn path. “I would like to clean this area as soon as I am able.” Her eyes keen on the disarray, she appeared to be taking in every flaw in the garden. “’Tis time.”
Clarice motioned to the stone. “My father—”
“And your mother is over there,” Erwina finished for her.”
“When first we met, you knew my face. How is that so?” Clarice asked. “And no games this time,” she warned. “Speak only truth to me.”
Erwina’s fingers bunched the apron hanging from her waist. Her reddened knuckles whitened as she searched for words. “’Tis I who failed you. I did not protect you as I vowed.” Her body shuddered as she drew in quick, halting breaths. “I failed my lady Angelica, too.”
“You were the nursery maid who took me to the monastery,” Clarice said. She touched Erwina’s knuckles with the tip of her finger and covered the work-worn flesh with her hand. “Don’t you see? You did not fail me. You protected me until my father learned the truth.”
Erwina’s eyes filled with tears. “I should have sent a message to your father.”
“You did all you could.”
A shadow of a smile tugged at Erwina’s mouth. “Can you find forgiveness, my lady?”
“’Tis certain I can.”
“But your mother . . .”
“Lady Angelica would have been proud of your efforts.”
Erwina bent her knees to curtsy. The cracking of old joints sounded as if crickets had taken residence under her skirts.
Clarice shook her head. “No need for this. You no longer serve a Margrave. You serve Lord Ranulf.”
The meager smile on Erwina’s face stretched. “Quite a job indeed. His lordship has certainly come into his own as a fine, strapping young man.”
Curious, Clarice could not help asking, “You knew him when he was a child?”
“For a time.”
She glanced at Erwina. “The tale of my father is true?”
“His lordship would not be turned away until he tore down the place that hid his angel. I fear his soul paid a hefty price for destroying the Lord’s place of worship. But I understood his anger.”
“And Ranulf?”
“Your father did Lord Ranulf a kindness by arranging his position with the young prince. One never knows what he might have come to be without that opportunity.”
“And the children who come to Sedgewic now?” In the distance, Clarice could see a little one approach. “Hamish?”
At Erwina’s silent nod, Clarice motioned him closer. “Then I shall see that he, too, has the
same opportunities to advance his station.”
Hamish ran toward them, ignoring Erwina’s scolding to mind his dirty fingers and face. His pudgy arms wrapped around Clarice’s waist and held her tight.
“Lord Ranulf says you are to join him in the great hall at once.”
Clarice arched a brow at Erwina and grinned. “If you will excuse us, Mistress Erwina, our presence is required.” Their hands clasped together, she hitched up the skirt of her gown so as not to rip the hem.
“One, two, three,” she counted. “Go!”
They raced to the hall. Their laughter rang throughout the bailey yard as they ran on. Breathless, they skittered over the doorway.
Three stern faces, masked in cold indifference, turned from the weeping man they were questioning. Harald’s whole body quaked with fear.
Ranulf’s harsh gaze ripped the laugher from their throats.
“Where is Robert?” Clarice asked the men.
The silence that followed crackled as if ice were underfoot.
* * *
“I cannot comprehend why ’tis necessary for me to stay at Margrave.” Clarice pointed a finger into Ranulf’s chest. “In truth, ’tis a command I refuse to heed.”
He caught her finger and kissed it. He smiled as if he had licked the last drop of milk from the saucer. “For the hundredth time, ’tis not safe for you to ride with us. You would make yourself a target.”
“But that is what I want.”
“And I won’t allow it.”
Nathan pushed away from the great hearth’s mantel. “Hear the woman out, Ranulf.”
Clarice grinned and bobbed a slight curtsy. “My thanks, good sir.” “Then we can stop wasting time and move on as we planned,” Nathan said.
Before she could launch into another tirade, Darrick left the corner where he had been standing. “Let the lady speak.”
Incredulous, Nathan turned to Darrick. “You agree with her?”
“I think I do.” Darrick bent a knee to Clarice. “Excuse the interference, Ranulf, but it has to be said.” He paused until the lord of Sedgewic granted him allowance to speak. “She cannot be left alone. She is a Margrave. No disrespect intended,” he added,