From This Moment On

by Lynn Kurland

  She had no idea, for she couldn’t have said if Sir Etienne had truly been to Solonge. She’d been forever in the solar, working at some task Marie had set her to, whenever there had been company below. Indeed, since Marie had come to the keep, Ali could count easily the number of times she’d been allowed to descend for supper. She’d usually had it brought to her in the solar, cold of course, by a servant who had filched a goodly bit of it on his way up the stairs. Complaining had earned her nothing but punishment, so she’d learned not to complain.

  Odd, that her life now seemed actually much easier than her life had been then. Odder still that she had Colin to thank for that.

  She had meals when she needed them. She had rest enough and ample chance to be outside in the goodly air. The work of war had even begun to please her as well. Finally, something she was actually good at. Indeed, there was something quite satisfying about having mastered something well enough that Colin would actually give her a single, brief nod of approval.

  It was far preferable to the endless criticisms and the constant danger of living with Marie of Solonge. The few times Ali had tried to protest her treatment at her stepmother’s hands, her father had brought Marie into his solar and asked her if Ali spoke the truth.

  That had always resulted in another of those afternoons alone with Marie in a remote tower chamber—those afternoons Ali didn’t miss.

  “How long will it take us to get to Solonge?” Colin asked, interrupting her musings. “Jason, by the bloody saints, that’s foul. Can you not pick out some tune my ears can recognize?”

  “Songs to accompany brawls are not my forte, my lord,” came the innocent reply. “I’ve confined my repertoire to ballads and other such tales of courtly love.”

  “It all sounds of screeching to me,” Colin grumbled. “Now, Sir Etienne, your thoughts on the length of the journey?”

  “With fair weather and no trouble, a se’nnight,” Sir Etienne said. “No more. Unless the lad continues this disturbing weakness he’s showing and we’re forced to wait for him.”

  Ali wondered if it might be time to rise and stretch, just to prove that she wouldn’t delay them, then she realized how foolish that was. Wasn’t delay what she wanted? The longer it took them to travel to Solonge, the more time she would have to find a way out of her current plight.

  Though what that way might be she couldn’t have for the life of her said.

  Why don’t you try the truth? You can trust the truth. Lord Colin certainly does.

  Berengaria’s counsel came back to her as clearly as if she’d heard the words spoken in her ear.

  Tell him the truth and weather the consequences?

  She was beginning to wonder if she had any other choice.

  She was quite familiar with another bit of truth, though, and that was that she could not return to Solonge, not even to beg for her father’s mercy. He would never understand how dangerous Marie was until Ali was lying in her grave.

  Victim of a very unfortunate accident, no doubt.

  “So,” Sir Etienne said, “what are your plans? Tell me of them and let me see if I can improve upon them.”

  More snorting ensued, then Colin spoke. “We’ll go to Solonge and have speech with the lord there. And then I’ll try to discover Aliénore’s trail.”

  “A waste, if all you plan to do is kill her in the end anyway.”

  “I will search. Perhaps the lass is merely in need of aid.”

  “I doubt that,” Sir Etienne said with his own snort. “She’s likely flat on her back with any number of soldiers, whoring her way across France.”

  Ali did open her eyes then, for Colin had leaped to his feet and his sword rang out as he drew it.

  “That is my bride you speak of,” he said, glaring down at Sir Etienne.

  Ali wondered what Sir Etienne would do, but she didn’t have to wonder long. He was staring at her pointedly, then a small smile came over his face.

  “Well,” he drawled, looking up at Colin with no fear on his visage, “I never would have said it had Henri not said it to me first. ’Twas his opinion of the good lady, you know.”

  Ali sat up with a start, sure that Colin would run her through for the insult. But he didn’t look at her. Instead, he thrust home his blade and resumed his seat. He looked at Sir Etienne coldly.

  “If he said the like, which I very much doubt he did, he can be forgiven the insult. He is young and inexperienced. You, as a man of goodly years, should know better.”

  “Will you demand satisfaction from me?” Sir Etienne asked, putting his hand over his heart and blinking in feigned surprise.

  Ali couldn’t breathe. The moment Colin drew his sword again she would be finished. Sir Etienne would blurt out her sorry tale as he parried—of that she was certain.

  Colin pursed his lips. “Not this time. But watch your words, sir knight, lest you not find me so lenient again.”

  Sir Etienne looked as if he had just stuffed himself full at a banquet table. The expression of satisfaction was almost more than Ali could bear. Would that Colin would teach her enough that she might slay this fool and spare them all the misery of any more of his company.

  “A decision well made,” Sir Etienne said. “Especially since ’tis Henri who should suffer for the insult.”

  Colin pointedly ignored him. “Draw you here in the dirt a map I can follow.”

  Ali lay back down uneasily. Colin obviously hadn’t believed Sir Etienne’s lies, which meant he was better at spotting a liar than she was. The saints only knew why he hadn’t seen through her subterfuge sooner. Perhaps ’twas as Jason said: As long as she held a sword in her hands, he wouldn’t look closer than that.

  She vowed to hold her sword in her hands as often as possible from then on. If nothing else, it would keep Colin’s attentions focused elsewhere. To be sure, it would improve her skill and she very much suspected that such skill would be her only means of obtaining her freedom. At the very least, she could protect herself against Sir Etienne and that was nothing to dismiss.

  Because until she managed that, she would be protecting him against Colin.

  She closed her eyes and let talk of roads and inns and places to avoid wash over her. She had best take what rest she could have, when she could have it. The road before her had taken on a decidedly sinister turn—and that more than just the fact that if they continued south, they would eventually have to head east.

  To Solonge.

  Back to Marie’s lair.

  So Colin could begin his search for his errant bride.

  Ali struggled to peer into the future, just to see how the sorry tale might possibly play out. A pity she had none of Berengaria’s sight. It would have aided her immensely to know if she should just pull forth her blade right now and fall upon it, or if she should wait for Marie or Sir Etienne to end her life for her.

  She entertained such black thoughts until dawn was breaking against the shadows of the little glade where they’d made their camp. And during that long night, she decided nothing useful, except to accept the fact that she very well might lose her life at Marie’s hands some time in the next fortnight. Perhaps it would behoove her to make peace with God.

  Or perhaps she should just awaken Colin and tell him who she was. He could kill her right then and it would be done with. Then she could return as a ghost and haunt Sir Etienne for the rest of his days.

  And the possibility of that was enough to bring her up to her elbow, the truth on her lips. She reached over to shake Colin’s foot, then froze.

  Sir Etienne stood above him with his sword at Colin’s throat.

  Ali didn’t have to hear him speak to know exactly what he was thinking.

  See how easy it would be?

  But before she could either nod or weep, there was a ring of steel and Colin was quite magically on his feet with his own sword at Sir Etienne’s throat.

  Sir Etienne’s blade was, amazingly enough, no longer in his hand.

  “You should be more care
ful where you allow your blade to linger,” Colin said coldly.

  Sir Etienne bowed deeply. “My apologies, lord. I am perhaps overtired and careless.”

  Ali couldn’t swallow. She certainly couldn’t speak. All she could do was stare into Sir Etienne’s angry eyes and wonder if this might be the time in which he actually made good on his threat and blurted out her name.

  She was saved from that by Colin putting up his sword.

  “Finish your watch,” he said briskly. “We’ll rest until you return, then be on our way.”

  Sir Etienne bowed again, an ingratiating bow that spoke more of mockery than deference, then melted back into the shadows.

  Ali watched as Colin sat down and threw a handful of twigs onto the fire to bring it back to life. She felt as if she should say something, but she couldn’t. She half feared that if she said anything at all, it would turn into a confession and then where would she be?

  Dead.

  After all, Colin wasn’t above carrying a corpse back to Harrowden. He’d said so himself.

  “How do you fare?” he asked suddenly, looking at her from under his eyebrows. “Feeling better?”

  She blinked in surprise at the concern. “Well, aye,” she said, feeling rather unbalanced. There she’d been imagining how easily he would kill her, yet he was asking if she was well? Would she ever understand the man? “Thank you,” she added.

  “We’ll stop early so we can train for a bit this afternoon.”

  “As you wish, my lord.”

  He nodded, then poked at the fire in silence. Ali watched him and realized, with a start, that while he could never be called handsome, he had a certain look about him that wasn’t overly unpleasant. And the man certainly could defend himself, even when half asleep. Sybil certainly could have done worse.

  Such as being wed to a would-be priest who likely couldn’t tell one end of a sword from the other.

  Ali rubbed her hand over her eyes and tried to clear them of the sight of Colin leaning over the fire, his face set in grimly serious lines, his sword by his side. Was it possible that she was actually finding him less than terrifying? Or had too much sea travel finally rid her of what few wits she possessed?

  Or was she actually valuing the fact that her betrothed was the fiercest man she had ever seen? And not completely unpleasant to look at? And, on occasion, showed what a more foolish maid might have called kindness?

  A movement startled her and she looked over Colin’s head to see Sir Etienne lurking at the edge of the trees.

  And she read the message in his eyes clearly enough.

  Tell him and you’ll both die.

  She looked back at Colin. He had turned his head just the slightest bit toward Sir Etienne, so she was fairly certain he knew who lurked at the edge of the firelight. But he showed no sign of distress or nervousness. That reassured her somewhat, but not completely. The man couldn’t stay awake and alert continually. There would come a time when Sir Etienne could have Colin at his mercy. And that she couldn’t allow.

  She wondered what Colin would say if she told him that what she did was partly to protect him.

  Likely give her that look she’d seen before, the one that said he couldn’t quite believe that anyone could be so ridiculously foolish. Him, the powerful and invincible Colin of Berkhamshire, in need of aid? Ha!

  Yet aid he would need and it fell to her to give it to him, even if he never knew she did. She suddenly found herself cursing the hours that remained between dawn and the time Colin would teach her more swordplay. The more she learned, the more quickly she learned it, the easier it would be to see to Sir Etienne herself, and then he would have nothing more to hold over any of them.

  Not Colin’s life. Not hers. But perhaps his own.

  Aye, Sir Etienne would not like what Colin made her into.

  If she only could obtain enough time to let Colin manage it. Colin rose suddenly and she felt a wave of unease sweep over her. By the saints, would the man never cease to startle her? She concentrated on breathing in a normal fashion, as if it were an everyday occurrence to have a man standing over her quite suddenly, looking for all the world like an avenging god.

  Why, the man could slay her merely by stepping on her!

  But what fell on her was not his heavy boot, but rather a heavy blanket.

  “Thought you might be chilled,” Colin said gruffly, then turned and returned immediately to his place, taking his sword and beginning to sharpen it with great diligence.

  Ali fought the urge to gape at him in amazement. Had he just given her a blanket, had he just stretched his black soul to do something nice for her, or was she caught in some inescapable web of foul imaginings?

  So many conflicting thoughts swirled about in her head, she began to feel as queasy as she had on the ship. Colin and his sudden kindness, Sir Etienne and his wickedness, Marie and her sharp knife, she herself and her confusion about what she should do. It was enough to make her want to pull Colin’s very warm blanket up over her ears and sleep until everything sorted itself out.

  She was sure of nothing except that, despite her better judgment, she was beginning to trust the Butcher of Berkhamshire.

  The saints only knew where that would lead.

  Chapter 22

  There were foul deeds afoot. Colin had a keen nose for trouble, and the stench of this rivaled, well, himself on his worst day. And most of the stench seemed to be coming from Sir Etienne’s direction.

  Never mind that the man had almost slit his throat—and quite intentionally, to Colin’s mind. And never mind that he was tormenting young Henri for reasons Colin had yet to determine. What annoyed him no end was the fact that the man couldn’t find east if his life had depended on it. Colin was presently regretting mightily his decision to allow the man to come along. Never mind that the man was a true Frenchman. Where was the advantage to that when his manners were atrocious, his personality intolerable, and, again, his sense of direction nonexistent?

  It had taken them more than a se’nnight to come this far southeast, and that only because Colin had known where they were going. Had he been relying on Sir Etienne to lead in these matters, they likely would have been in Spain by now and scratching their heads over how they’d gotten there.

  The only good to come of the past seven days was the opportunity to train Henri. Mayhap ’twas for that reason that their progress had been so poor, but Colin couldn’t complain about it. He’d wanted the time to teach the girl something useful and he’d taken it without hesitation. She was making decent progress and that pleased him.

  Of course, that goodly mood had lasted for him only until the rains had begun—and continued without abatement for the past two days. He’d finally decided that he had no choice but to seek shelter. And that had led him to the place where he stood at present, staring at the inn before him and wondering if he dared enter.

  The Swinging Bucket. Colin had swung the bucket before—actually, he’d swung from The Bucket’s sign over the door in a very fine and noteworthy escape from French soldiers—and found himself quite unwelcome to come back for another dip.

  But rain was coming down in, aye, buckets, and there seemed to be little they could do besides either seek shelter here or catch their deaths from the ague outside. Colin pulled his hood up around his face and looked at his companions.

  “Do not announce yourselves or your business,” he said sternly. “We’re carrying a message to Solonge. Nothing more.”

  “Four of us?” Sir Etienne asked politely. “It must be a very important message.”

  Colin knew that the only reason he hadn’t loathed Sir Etienne fully on sight was that he’d been distracted by other things. But now he’d had nigh onto a month to let that feeling swell within his breast. The man needed to be taught a lesson. And Colin would happily do the teaching, after they’d arrived safely at Solonge. That should take them but a handful of days more. Less, if they rode hard. He would then make the man think twice about venturing forth fr
om his bed, then employ some other guide and have no more need of Sir Etienne.

  That day couldn’t come soon enough, to his mind.

  But those pair of days might also give him time enough to discover what it was that Sir Etienne held over Henri’s head and that would be time well spent. How long had that been going on? And how in the bloody hell had he been so distracted that he hadn’t noticed it sooner?

  Well, having his life fall apart around him was one reason.

  Discovering that his new guardsman was a woman was another.

  Perhaps he could be forgiven his lack of concentration, given the circumstances. But no more. He was determined to discover Sir Etienne’s foul secrets and rid himself of the man as quickly as possible, especially after that feeble attempt on his life. He’d been awake long before Sir Etienne had come to stand over him with his blade bared, so he certainly hadn’t been caught unawares. But that the man should dare such a thing was what troubled him.

  What was the fool about, anyway?

  Well, there would be time enough for those answers. He certainly wouldn’t have them if he were dead from exposure. Colin took a deep breath and ducked beneath the doorframe.

  Apparently they weren’t the only ones seeking shelter that night. The common chamber was full to overflowing with wet, steaming bodies. Colin espied a table in the far comer and made his way as unobtrusively as possible to it.

  The innkeeper’s gel arrived soon enough and Colin felt fortunate that she wasn’t one he recognized.

  A meal was provided without delay and Colin set to with his usual manly gusto. Out of the comer of his eye he watched Henri eat and wondered why it was he’d been blind for so long. Why, even the way the girl fed herself left no doubt of what she was. She ate heartily, true, but without the grunts and snarls of most men when they were fair to perishing from hunger. Even Jason, who Colin had to grudgingly admit possessed all those manners that Gillian seemed to find so important, had a certain thoroughness and single-mindedness when it came to filling his belly. Even if he didn’t use the table’s cloth to wipe his mouth afterward.