by Lynn Kurland
Let not all you’ve worked for be snatched away from you whilst you sleep, Grandson.
Jean de Piaget
“We must go at once to Ayre,” Gwen announced.
Montgomery held up his hands. “I will have nothing to do with this—”
“Of course you won’t go to Ayre,” Geoffrey said firmly. “This could be a forgery.”
“You fool, the first missive was obviously a forgery!” Gwen exclaimed. “It begins as the last with Rhys’s grandfather smelling trouble. It is perfectly logical that he would bring all Rhys’s gold to Ayre to keep it from being snatched in France.”
“Now, lady—” Geoffrey began.
“And so we must be away for Ayre,” she said, glaring at him. “What would you have—Rhys’s grandfather delivering the gold straightway into Alain’s hands? Or Rollan’s? Come, Montgomery. We will see to the gathering of the men and be on our way immediately.”
“Oh, nay,” Montgomery moaned. “My lady, I beg of you, nay.”
“Then I’ll go myself—”
“You will not,” Geoffrey announced. He folded his arms over his chest and looked at her sternly. It would have worked a bit better, perhaps, if he had been as tall as Rhys. Gwen hardly had to tilt her head backward much at all to meet his eyes, though she did concede that his breadth was somewhat intimidating, as was his steely expression.
And then there were those uncomfortable memories of her time wallowing in pig manure thanks to Geoffrey’s ingenuity.
“You have no business traipsing across England to rescue Rhys’s gold for him,” Geoffrey continued firmly. “I can easily send men to do the deed in Rhys’s stead.”
“But—”
“I will go myself,” he added, then he stopped and frowned. “Saints above, what possesses me to say the like is something I’m certain I’ll never understand. I’m equally as certain I’ll regret it.”
“But it must be done soon—”
“In a day or two,” Geoffrey said. “I had planned to meet Rhys in London in a fortnight just the same.”
“But you must meet him in London as promised,” Gwen argued, “else he won’t know what has transpired. He would return here to Fenwyck and find us gone.”
Geoffrey sighed heavily. “Very well, I will go to Ayre and send someone else to London to alert him as to what has transpired. He will come to Ayre instead of Fenwyck, and we will have this tale finished with Alain.”
“And another messenger sent to Dover.”
“But—” Geoffrey protested.
“Lest your messenger in London miss him!”
“Very well,” Geoffrey said with a heavy sigh. “Two messengers in two places. And let us hope Rhys does not slip past the both of them. I will have the lads set out in a day or two. Now I will have to see to the running of the keep in my absence.” He looked at her. “You would be a good choice for that.”
Two days? Rhys’s grandfather could already be a handful of miles away from Ayre and nigh onto walking into a trap in that time. Two days was too long to wait.
“Chasing after Amanda and Anne together will occupy your time quite nicely,” Geoffrey added. “And perhaps seeing to a bit of my mending.”
It was an enormous effort not to wallop him strongly on the head. It was, however, tempting to make several alterations to his clothes.
Perhaps if she filched a horse and left at dusk she could be well on her way before anyone discovered her absence. The twins could be left in charge of seeing to the children. They were as much under Amanda’s sway as Nicholas was, but perhaps with a stern lecture from her they might realize how necessary it was to keep the children in check. Nicholas would be there to entertain her. Her mother would oversee the care of the children and Gwen’s guard both. Indeed, Gwen suspected she likely wouldn’t be missed overmuch.
“And a day or two overseeing the kitchens as well,” Geoffrey said, obviously captivated by the thought of all the things a woman could do for him that hadn’t been done since his lady had passed.
It was obvious what she had to do. Fortunately she had given much thought, if not practice, to her mercenary attributes over the past few years. One never knew when a vice might come in handy.
“Of course, I’ll stay behind and see to all those tasks,” she lied enthusiastically.
Geoffrey blinked. “You agree?”
“Geoffrey, ’tis obvious you have given this much thought and I must submit to your superior wisdom in the matter. What good would I be as a mere woman?”
“What indeed?” Montgomery muttered.
Gwen shot him a warning look, then turned a bright smile on Geoffrey. “My place is at the tapestry frame and cooking fire, my lord, as you suggested.”
Montgomery began to choke. Indeed, he seemed determined to cough the life out of himself. Gwen pounded him very forcefully on the back until he held up his hands for mercy.
“Rest assured,” Gwen said to Geoffrey, “that your keep will be in capable hands while you trot off on the rescue. Rhys will be most grateful to you.”
“Well,” Geoffrey said, sounding quite frankly amazed, “I’m happy to see your good sense.”
“I’m quite certain you are.”
Geoffrey looked at Montgomery, then back at Gwen. “I should perhaps begin preparations,” he said.
“I couldn’t agree more,” Gwen said pleasantly. She shooed him away. “Take no more thought for your keep, my lord. I’ll see to it all.”
Geoffrey walked away, still looking the faintest bit unsure.
“I remain unconvinced,” Montgomery said hoarsely.
“Silence, or I’ll let you choke the next time.”
Montgomery frowned at her. “Lady Gwennelyn, Rhys left me with specific instructions to keep you here.”
“And what makes you think I intend to leave the keep, good sir?”
“Have you any idea how long I’ve known you, lady?”
“I’ve matured.”
He snorted. “You’ve grown more cunning. Now, to assure myself that you truly intend to do as you should, I think I will require some sort of swearing from you.”
“My father taught me never to swear.”
“Vow it,” he said in exasperation. “Vow by the Rood you will not go to Ayre to get Rhys’s gold.”
“Need I remind you that I am your lady and ’tis your duty to obey me in all things?”
His frown turned into a glare. “And need I remind you what will happen to me if aught happens to you? You could be the bloody queen of the whole realm, and I’d still say as much to save my sorry neck. Saints, lady, whom do you think I fear more?”
She couldn’t blame him, actually, though it galled her to do so.
“He isn’t my lord yet,” she groused.
“I’ll leave you to convince him of that when he returns. Now, for my own sweet soul’s salvation, please swear by the Rood that you will not leave Fenwyck to attempt this foolishness.”
Her dilemma was clear. If Rhys lost his gold, he would never be able to bribe John, they would never marry, and she would take a blade to her breast; her soul would be consigned to hell. If she swore by the cross that she wouldn’t leave Fenwyck when she fully intended to do so, her soul would be consigned to hell.
Her choice was singularly simple.
Surely God wouldn’t hold a little lie against her when it meant so much to a man who had served Him so faithfully for so many years.
She met Montgomery’s eyes unflinchingly and gave him the most innocent look she could muster. She’d convinced him to help her do several things he hadn’t approved of over the years; there was no reason she couldn’t convince him now of her sincerity. “I vow,” she said solemnly, “by the Rood that I will not leave Fenwyck to attempt this foolishness.”
He looked at her closely. “Are you lying?”
She did her best to gasp in outrage. “Sir Montgomery, you doubt me?” It obviously hadn’t been as believable as she might have liked, for he didn’t look convinced.
Gwen dismissed the future location of Montgomery’s soul and concentrated on what she would need to accomplish before the day was through.
Dawn was rapidly approaching. Gwen knew that because she hadn’t slept for the whole of the night. She’d wondered repeatedly if she might have been better off having brought someone with her, but whom could she have trusted? Montgomery had threatened at the evening meal to tie her to a chair, and such a plan was heartily seconded by Geoffrey. Nay, leaving alone had been her only choice.
She had just resaddled her mount when she heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps coming from the woods to her left. So soon? In the back of her mind she sincerely hoped it was someone from Fenwyck and not one ruffian in a band of many. The saints preserve her from that kind of test of her mettle.
She loosened her sword in its sheath and moved back into the shadow of the trees. The footsteps continued to approach stealthily, and she was impressed by the lightness of the footfall. For a man to move that silently took concentration and skill. At least her visitor wasn’t Geoffrey. He ever moved through the undergrowth with the grace of a wounded boar.
The moonlight glinted off blond hair.
“Nicholas!” she exclaimed, putting up her sword.
“My lady,” he said, running to her and throwing his arms around her. “I feared for your safety!”
She lifted his face up. “Did anyone see you?”
He shook his head.
“How did you reach me so quickly? Did you make off with a horse?”
“Nay, my lady. You haven’t traveled very far. Indeed, I think you may have gone in a very large circle. Fenwyck is quite close.”
Damn. Gwen took his hand and pulled him to her horse. “We’ll have to ride doubly hard now, lad. I wish I’d brought some kind of map.”
“I can help,” he offered as she pulled him up behind her. “Sir Rhys taught me how to tell the direction from the sun. And I remember that we came north to Fenwyck, so we must needs go south to Ayre.”
She couldn’t argue with the logic of that, and she certainly wasn’t about to send a perfectly capable navigator back to Fenwyck. She put her heels to her mount’s side and followed Nicholas’s directions.
And she sincerely hoped her rescue finished more successfully than it had started.
34
Rhys stood in the clearing, waiting until his breath returned. It had been an exhausting morning, what with the shouting he’d done and the subsequent necessity of having to plant his fist in Jacques de Conyer’s face so many times. Damned hard on a man’s knuckles.
And now this. Rhys folded his arms over his chest and frowned at the second culprit. He also wondered, in passing, why it was he hadn’t realized until now that he’d had an additional member in his company. No wonder Jacques had volunteered to ride behind the company the entire way to France.
Rhys looked down, wondering just what it would take to convince the little fiend of the seriousness of what he’d done. And damned that Robin of Ayre if he didn’t fold his own scrawny arms over his chest and frown right back at Rhys as if he’d been the one wronged.
“You stole,” Rhys growled, deciding that to be a fine place to begin. “You stole your mother’s brooch.”
“Mama says mercenaries always steal,” Robin informed him.
Rhys scowled, momentarily stymied. Robin had a point with that one. Rhys wondered if he perhaps should save his shouting for Gwen. What was she doing teaching this lad such things?
“You lied, then,” Rhys said, grasping for another of Gwen’s mercenary vices.
“I did not!” Robin argued hotly. “I bribed Sir Jacques forthrightly.”
Rhys could hardly believe the lad before him hadn’t yet reached his sixth year. The saints preserve him once Robin truly found his tongue.
“Then,” Rhys said, scrambling for something to chastise him for, “you didn’t tell your mother where you were going.”
“She wouldn’t have let me come.”
“Neither would I!” Rhys exclaimed.
Robin thrust out his chin. “You may have need of me.”
“What I have need of is a handy stump where I might sit comfortably when I turn you over my knee and blister your arse!”
Robin looked properly horrified by the prospect. He gulped, then put his shoulders back. “If you must,” he said, his voice only quavering the slightest bit. “Or perhaps you could just bloody my nose and call it good.”
Rhys stared down into the earnest little face and tried not to laugh. Saints, but this lad was cheeky. And Rhys had to admire the boy’s determination to help. It reminded him so sharply of Gwen, he almost caught his breath. And with the next heartbeat he wanted more than anything to hug Robin fiercely and thank him for the loyalty.
But the saints only knew what sorts of antics that might encourage, so Rhys put on his best frown and tried to think of a suitable punishment.
“You disobeyed me,” Rhys said, “and surely that merits some sort of penalty.”
“You didn’t say that I couldn’t come,” Robin pointed out.
“What I did say was that I expected you to stay behind and look after your mother.”
Robin looked down at his feet. “You aren’t my father.” He ducked his head even harder. “I don’t have to obey you.”
Rhys was surprised by how much the words hurt. In truth, he wasn’t Robin’s sire. But he would have given much to have been the like.
“I see,” he managed finally. “I suppose, then, ’tis good to know what you think—”
And then he suddenly found himself clutched about the hips by a small boy who had broken down into sobs.
“I wish you were!” Robin cried. “I wish it more than anything!”
If the former hadn’t left him with tears in his eyes, the latter certainly did. Rhys hefted Robin in his arms and hugged him fiercely. He suspected most, if not all of his company watched him, but he cared not what they thought. He patted Robin on the back and said a few of those soothing words Gwen always said to Amanda when she was weepy. And when Robin had stopped wailing loudly enough to alert everyone in France to their arrival, Rhys set the boy down, took him by the hand, and led him out of the middle of the clearing.
He squatted down in front of Robin and used his sleeve to briskly dry away the boy’s tears.
And he fought his smile when Robin reached out and did the same for him.
“Father and son we aren’t,” Rhys began, “but perhaps we would choose differently if we could. In any case, I think you are a good lad, and I would certainly be proud to call you mine.”
Robin looked as if Rhys had handed him two dozen new blades of the finest Damascus steel and the skill with which to wield them all.
“Would you?” Robin breathed.
“Aye,” Rhys said simply. “But I fear then that I would expect certain things from you.”
The glow dimmed a bit. “You would?”
“Aye. I should hope that you wouldn’t steal again. ’Tisn’t an honorable thing for a knight to do.”
“But a mercenary—”
“I speak of knights, Robin. An honorable knight does not steal. Neither does he lie.”
Robin chewed on that.
“He protects women and little ones and he most certainly doesn’t put worms down his sister’s gown.” Rhys knew he was making an impression on the boy; no sense in not clearing up a few other things while he was about the task.
Robin looked crushed. “He doesn’t?”
“’Tisn’t chivalrous, Robin.”
“Oh,” the lad said, seemingly considering the consequences of committing to a life of such goodness. Evidently he found it not too taxing a burden, for he put his shoulders back and sighed. “No more worms. No more snakes. No more spiders.”
Poor Amanda, Rhys thought to himself.
“But about the other,” Robin said, looking up suddenly.
“You plan to steal my mother, do you not?”
Rhys found he had no answer for that.
“And you didn’t tell my father, did you?”
Rhys shook his head, still speechless.
Robin regarded him for several moments in silence, then shrugged. “Perhaps it is because you are protecting women and little ones. Is that the most important part of being a knight?”
No lying and stealing, my arse. How did one explain to a five-year-old boy the finer points of life? Or love? Rhys shook his head. Perhaps he was committing the same crimes he’d forbidden Robin to indulge in. Lying and stealing were acceptable mercenary traits, and they certainly were serving him well in his present endeavor. But he was also almost a score and ten and pressed to use whatever he could to have his dreams.
Saints, but children were greatly skilled at making a man question his own actions.
“Robin,” he said, taking a deep breath, “I am not going to steal your mother.”
“You aren’t?” Robin looked crestfallen.
“Nay, lad. I’m going to win her fairly.”
“By bribing the king?”
“Knights also do not eavesdrop, lad.”
Robin frowned and fell silent.
“I will do what I must, for she needs to be rescued from your sire. Perhaps in this case I will be forced to use bribery, but ’tis not a thing I do lightly, nor do I do it often. Neither should you.”
“I did not bribe Sir Jacques lightly,” Robin pointed out. “’Twas necessary that I be here with you. To guard your back. But,” he added with a sigh, “I suppose I won’t escape a bloodying of my nose just the same.” He stepped back, clenched his fists down by his sides, and closed his eyes. “I am ready, Sir Rhys.”
Rhys put his hands on Robin’s shoulders, turned him around, and pointed him to the horses. “A better punishment is seeing to the horses for a se’nnight. Your nose is safe.”
Robin threw him a grateful look, then bolted for the other side of the camp. Rhys suspected the joy would only last a pair of hours until he’d had his fill of shoveling horse manure, then the lad would return and beg for a boxing of his nose.