by Stuart, Anne
But he’d chosen Alys, and he’d become absurdly vulnerable. Not through anything as obvious as sex, since it was clear that Simon of Navarre had lost the ability to function as other men did. Perhaps Alys really was a witch after all, one who’d used her powers on the all-powerful sorcerer.
The reasons behind it didn’t matter, only the results. Simon of Navarre would obey without question, and would continue to do so as long as Richard kept Alys hostage. Once he killed her, Simon would have no motive for loyalty other than his own self-interest.
In the past Richard would have assumed that Simon’s self-interest would rule over any stray sentiment. Now he wasn’t so sure. He would keep the two of them alive as long as he needed them. Until the king was dead and things were well in hand to ensure Richard’s claim to the throne.
And then he would show great good sense and have Simon killed before he dispensed with his annoyance of a sister. It was never wise to underestimate the wrath of a wizard.
There was bear baiting and cock fighting in the market town. Roasted meats and music and magicians to entertain the crowds. He should have pressed on, gone the long way around the bustling town, but he was tired, bored, and hungry. The wise thing would have been to move onward. But Richard the Fair didn’t waste his energy being wise.
They camped on the bluff outside the town, and the smell of food and livestock rose to mingle with the wood-smoke. They were two days away from Middleham, two days away from the start of his glorious future. He could afford a day of pleasure before he got on with his life’s work.
He rubbed his balls absently. He wouldn’t go back to Summersedge Keep once the deed was done. He owned lands and castles all over England, though the Keep had always been a favorite. He would move South, toward Kent, and send for Lady Claire. She would still be locked in her solar, as he’d commanded, and he had complete faith that his servants wouldn’t dare fail him. They knew the punishment for mistakes.
He’d conveniently decided that Claire was no sister to him, and her beauty made the possibility of damnation worth the risk. But he found himself wondering about little Alys. What about her had managed to ensnare his all-powerful wizard? He couldn’t reasonably deny his kinship with her as well, but he found himself wondering what lay beneath her ugly clothes. Perhaps he’d find out before he had her smothered.
The night was cold, drear, with only a quarter moon to light the sky. Simon of Navarre lay sleeping in the corner of the tent, wisely making no attempt to elude his liege lord’s presence. He was a sensible man; he’d accepted the way things were and had made the best of it, sleeping the sleep of those without conscience, his imprisoned wife forgotten.
Richard the Fair grinned as he stretched out on his own bed. Maybe there was hope for Grendel after all.
Simon waited until Richard started snoring before he rose to look down at his liege lord.
He could cut Richard’s throat and watch him bleed to death, speechless, in a matter of moments. But that wouldn’t solve the problem of Alys’s captivity. There were four men guarding the wagon, and they’d been told to be particularly suspicious of him. He knew he would have one chance, and one chance alone, to rescue her, and he had to make certain there were no mistakes. A diversion was simple enough to arrange, but it would have to be timed carefully so that he could be there to release her, and there had to be some avenue of escape. There was no question but that she would have to mount the back of a horse or accept death, and he hoped she would make the wise decision. If she couldn’t, they would both die, and he wasn’t particularly ready for death.
He rose, knowing from experience that Richard’s wine-fueled sleep would be heavy enough to keep him from realizing his wizard was gone. He counted on his men at arms to watch him, and unfortunately they were very good at their job. So far it had proved impossible to get anywhere near Alys without an army of witnesses, and he had no intention of reassuring her and having word get back to Richard.
Not that he had any illusions. Richard no longer trusted him. Despite Alys’s He and Simon’s own lazy protests, Richard knew that his wizard would betray him for the utterly ridiculous sake of a woman’s life. But as long as the suspicions were unspoken, he had a small measure of safety. So he nodded and said nothing as Richard prattled on about the future, and dreamed of his head on a pike.
He needed an ally, and he had none. The frightened-looking serving woman who attended Alys would likely run screaming into the forest before she helped him, and it seemed as if Richard had chosen the men who accompanied them with special care. Every one of them had a particular grudge against Simon of Navarre.
Admittedly, it would have been hard to find inhabitants of the Keep who didn’t hate Simon. He had done his best to intimidate everyone who’d come his way, and very few had proven resistant. Only Brother Jerome, and God knows where he was now. And Thomas du Rhaymer, off in search of Alys’s silly little sister.
It was a cold night, but he didn’t bother with his fur-lined mantle. He liked the cold, the icy nip of frost that danced across his skin. It went a small way toward cooling his blood. And he needed to be cool, to be calm and unemotional, in order to accomplish what needed to be done.
The wagon was off to one side, the thick curtains pulled tightly around it. He wondered if she was warm enough in there, if she slept soundly. If she dreamed, if she cried. If he somehow managed to come to her, to kill the guards that surrounded her prison and cut her free, would she take the knife from his hand and plunge it into his heart?
And he wondered if he would care.
The guards had moved away from the cart, closer to the warmth of the fire, but Simon did not think for a moment that they would simply watch as he approached the makeshift prison. He ignored them, ignored the wagon and the pale-faced woman who sat nearby, and walked into the forest.
“Guess even a wizard needs to relieve himself every now and then,” one man said in a loud voice. Louder than he usually would have dared speak within Simon’s hearing. One more sign that Richard’s favor had been withdrawn.
“At least his John Thomas is good for something,” another one said with a crude laugh. “Bet the little lady would like to know what a real man’s like.”
Simon paused at the edge of the woods, out of sight, his right hand clenched tight on his dagger. He was unmoved by the insults, but the suggestion of a threat to his wife was a more serious matter. It was more than possible one of those idiots would decide to climb into Alys’s prison and find out whether or not she was still a maiden. It was more than possible that Richard would encourage them.
He’d never felt possessive in his entire life. He’d never felt helpless.
It was a small noise, and to a man less observant it might have sounded like a woodland creature, a squirrel or rabbit scuttling through the fallen leaves. But Simon seldom made mistakes.
He’d already drawn his knife when the creature hurtled itself at him, a bundle of rags and hair and fury, but at the last instant he dropped the blade, catching the enraged creature with both hands.
She made a choking sound of great pain, collapsing at his feet, and a moment later Thomas du Rhaymer hove into view, panting slightly.
“You need to keep better watch on your lady,” Simon observed in a quiet voice, hauling Lady Claire to her feet and still keeping her hands imprisoned in his. He could see no weapon, but Lady Claire was a formidable young woman, and he had no desire to end up a real castrati.
“Bastard,” she spat at him, struggling. “Murderer!” She gasped again, and he realized that one of her wrists was tightly bandaged, and that he was hurting her quite badly.
He shoved her toward her champion with a sound of disgust. “Keep hold of her, du Rhaymer. I have no particular desire to inflict injury on my wife’s sister, but I’m not in the best of moods either.”
Thomas caught her, holding her easily against him despite her struggles. “Are you going to call the guards?” he asked in a low voice.
“You don’t
really think I would, do you?” he replied.
Claire stopped struggling, though her face was still mutinous. “Calm down, my lady,” Thomas said to her, and astonishingly enough, she did. The wonders of love, Simon thought bitterly. “His lordship is going to help us.”
“Help us get killed,” she shot back, but her voice was quieter now. “He hasn’t made any attempt to rescue her yet. What makes you think he even cares?”
“I’ve thought of one plan,” Simon said in a mild tone of voice. “You could take her place.”
Claire opened her mouth to insult him again but her stalwart knight simply clamped a hand across her face, silencing her. “How heavily is she guarded?”
“Four men at all times, and no one in the camp is likely to help. Between the two of us we might be able to manage, but why did you bring that tiresome creature along?” he demanded, looking askance at Claire. “No, don’t tell me. I imagine you didn’t have much say in the matter.”
She knocked Thomas’s restraining hand away. “I love my sister!” she said furiously.
His response was immediate but unspoken. He just looked at her coolly, and finally Thomas spoke.
“There’s nothing wrong with your right hand,” he observed.
Simon flexed it, leaning down to pick up the knife he’d dropped rather than skewer his sister-in-law. “No,” he said.
“I imagine there’s nothing wrong with any other part of you, either.”
Simon smiled faintly. “I can’t imagine that’s any concern of yours.”
“We like large families. Children and nieces and nephews,” Thomas said.
“Let’s see if we survive the next few days,” Simon replied. “Then we can worry about procreation.”
“I’m still a maid,” Claire announced in a pugnacious tone of voice.
“My condolences,” Simon murmured. “I’m certain Thomas will take care of that problem when he has the time. At the moment I think your sister’s safety is of greater concern.”
“There wasn’t time for Brother Jerome to marry us,” Thomas said. “We can wait until Lady Alys is safely bestowed.”
“Bestowed where? In her husband’s care? I doubt she’ll welcome that,” Simon said coolly. “You could see her safely back to that convent she came from. I imagine that’s as welcome a place as any. Or she can make her home with you if she so chooses.”
“I can protect them from Lord Richard, if that is a concern of yours.”
Simon smiled. “I don’t anticipate that that will be a problem,” he said gently.
Thomas nodded, understanding immediately. “I’ll take her wherever she wishes to go.”
Lady Claire had obviously had enough of being ignored. “What are we going to do?” she demanded. “I don’t want her to spend another night in that horrible cage.”
“The night is half over. If you can manage some patience we can free her tomorrow, during the fair. In the confusion you should be able to escape.”
“You have a plan?” Thomas demanded eagerly.
“An idea,” Simon replied. “It requires careful preparation and accurate timing. Richard doesn’t know her spoiled little ladyship has taken off, or that you went after her. If he spies you tomorrow, he’ll simply assume that Lady Claire is still locked in her solar and you’ve come to offer your help.”
“Do you think he’ll believe it?” Thomas said doubtfully.
“Richard has a great deal on his mind. He won’t be wasting his suspicions on one of his loyal knights. In the meantime, keep that impatient creature quiet, would you? Take her somewhere and tup her while I work on it.”
“We’re not married, my lord.”
Simon muttered a curse in Arabic. “Then bind and gag her and dump her in a ditch and we’ll fetch her later.”
Thomas turned. “She’s not here,” he said in an ominous voice.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean she’s gone,” Thomas said in a desperate voice. “And if I know my lady, she’s gone after her sister.”
“Hell and damnation,” Simon muttered. And he started for the clearing.
Chapter Twenty-Four
It was a fortunate thing that Thomas du Rhaymer caught up with Lady Claire before Simon did. He tackled her before she reached the edge of the clearing, landing on top of her with a muffled “ooof.” If Simon had been the one to catch her he might have delivered the sound thrashing she so richly deserved.
He kept walking through the forest, stepping over the entwined, bickering couple. She was blistering him in a shrill voice, Thomas was holding her still, and Simon moved on, shaking his head in wonder. How two sisters could be so dissimilar was a question not soon to be answered. Lady Claire was a rare handful, but Sir Thomas was more than up to the task of taming her. They’d deal a lot better with each other once they managed to get into bed.
And in truth, in certain ways Alys was more like her rebellious half-sister than one might first think. Her beauty was more subtle but undeniably luminous, her bravery quieter but surely as fierce. And he had little doubt her rage could equal Lady Claire’s monumental proportions.
Lady Claire was silent now, and he could hear the faint, soothing murmur of Thomas’s voice, the soft rustle of clothing as he left them behind, and he wondered vaguely which would prove stronger, Thomas’s moral resolve or Claire’s determination. Either way, the battle would keep them busy for the next few hours.
He paused at the edge of the forest, watching the encampment with wary eyes. The four guards usually stationed at each corner of Alys’s makeshift prison had abandoned their posts and moved closer to the fire. They were passing a wine skin around, one had an arm slung around the serving woman’s plump figure, and Alys had been forgotten.
He could go up to the back of the carriage and part the curtains. He had no idea whether there was lock on that side as well, or whether he’d be able to open it without a key. Circumventing locks was one of his many talents, but the stakes had never been so high.
What would she do if she woke up and saw him? Scream in denunciation? Cry out in fury? Either would get them both killed, but she had no reason to trust him, every reason to despise him. If he had any sense he would leave her alone in her cage, go back to the tent he shared with Richard, and see if he could complete a workable plan for tomorrow, now that he knew he had an ally.
He paused outside the wagon, hidden in the shadows and the looming forest. No one could see him; no one could hear him. He moved closer, hoping for a sound from beyond the thick curtains, but his wife slept. Hating him.
Alys lay huddled beneath the covers, desperate for warmth. Her head was cold, her nose was cold, but she couldn’t bury her face in the animal throws without suffocating, and she had no desire to speed that particular fate.
She could hear the guards laughing. She wondered if Simon were laughing as well.
She could almost feel him watching her. His still, golden eyes moving slowly over her face, his hands reaching for her. The sensation became overwhelming, and she pushed the covers back, rose to her knees, and spread the heavy curtains that shielded the back of her carriage.
He stood there, as she knew he would. She opened her mouth to speak, but he moved quickly, putting his hands through the bars and covering her mouth as he shook his head for silence.
She closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of his skin, absorbing the warmth of his touch. She had gone most of her life without a man’s touch—how had it suddenly come to mean so much? And not any man’s. This man’s hands, scarred and lying.
She turned her face and pressed her mouth against the scarred palm. He moved closer, up against the iron bars, and slid his fingers through her hair, caressing her. The bars were icy cold against her face, his hands were cold as well, and she could see her breath in the shadowy moonlight.
This was one time when she couldn’t count on her knowledge, her wisdom, her years of study. She could only look into her heart. She plastered her body against the iron bars and
reached for him.
The feel of his body against hers was heaven. He kissed her, but the bars kept him from deepening the kiss, and she shivered in frustration. It was a silent dance of longing and despair, mute reassurance that she could only take on trust, and he’d given her no reason to trust him.
It didn’t matter. When he drew away he touched her with his elegant, loving hands, and she believed in him. She lay down on the pallet, and he drew the covers tight around her. And then he knelt in the cold, his arms through the bars, and held her, until she slept.
When she awoke the next morning she wondered if she’d dreamed it all. If she’d conjured Simon of Navarre out of thin air in her longing for him. There was no sign he’d been there. The frozen ground behind the wagon left no trace of footprint.
She must have dreamed it.
The guards released her for her morning ablutions, and she stumbled into the woods with Madlen close at her heels to relieve herself. The forest was still and silent, no bird calls sounding in the frosty morning, and even Madlen was grimmer than usual as she led her prisoner to a swift flowing stream.
Alys knelt down and dipped her hands in the icy water, splashing it over her face. She could only hope that, as it washed away the sleep, it would also wash away the treacherous fantasy of the night before. If she was to escape from this current disaster with her life intact she would need all her wits about her, and no sentimental weaknesses to betray her.
She dipped her hands again. Madlen was looking toward the camp, a disgruntled expression on her face, and she’d wandered a few steps away from her captive, obviously believing Alys was too cowed to attempt an escape.
Escape was the foremost thing on Alys’s mind. She looked up, across the narrow stream, trying to judge how fast she could move, whether she had any chance of getting away from her brother and hiding in the forest It was unlikely, but it was the only chance she might have, and she tightened her muscles, getting ready to spring forward across the stream, when she saw a sight that shocked her.