Where Love Has Gone

by Speer, Flora

  “Was the friend a man or a woman?” she asked.

  “Now, there’s a typical woman’s question.” His laugh was short and harsh. “If you must know, it was a man, a Scottish agent who provided me with information over a period of months. Some of the information was actually correct. He was a clever bastard.”

  “And?” She held her breath until he spoke again, and when he did, the icy contempt in his voice made her shiver.

  “The Scots are continually betraying and murdering each other. They make a game of it, so why should a Scotsman hesitate to betray an Englishman? My so-called friend sold me to another Scotsman, who then transported me across the Narrow Sea to France, where I was sold again, to a French spy. I spent almost a year in a French dungeon.”

  “Captain Piers claims he saved your life.”

  “That’s not entirely true. On Royce’s orders, my brother and a few other men rescued me and got me to the Daisy. For a handsome price, Captain Piers conveyed all of us to safety in England. The lesson I took from the experience was, never trust anyone.”

  “That’s a terribly hard lesson.”

  “Is it?” The gaze he turned on her was cold. “You and your sister trusted Lord Bertrand and his wife, and look what happened.”

  “I have trusted you and Cadwallon since first I met you, and neither of you has failed me.”

  “No? Look around you, Elaine. Tonight you will be sleeping with a cow.”

  “I haven’t complained.” She touched his shoulder, then hastily withdrew her hand when he flinched. “Are you in pain?”

  “Aye.” His eyes grew dark and he set his jaw. “I can bear it.”

  “Where does it hurt? Can I do anything at all to help?”

  “You could,” he said, “but the helping would ruin you.”

  “I don’t – oh.” She glanced downward. He rolled over in the straw, turning his back to her, but not before she saw the bulge that prodded at his chainmail. Her cheeks warmed with sudden comprehension.

  “Go to sleep,” he ordered. “We move on at sunrise.”

  “No.” She was reeling with fatigue, but she couldn’t stand the tension any longer. “I won’t let you deny what’s between us.”

  “There is nothing between us,” he said over his shoulder. “There never can be.”

  “You kissed me,” she said. “You touched me. You protected me from Lady Benedicta.”

  “So would any man.”

  “Which?” she asked, her lips twitching. “Protect me? Or kiss and touch me?”

  “Elaine!” He sounded exasperated.

  She struggled to restrain the laughter that threatened to burst forth. If she were not so tired she wouldn’t be feeling the impulse to giggle; she’d think more sensibly and wouldn’t be so apt to say aloud things an unwed noblewoman shouldn’t even dream of. She lay down in the straw next to Desmond. When he did not move, but continued to lie with his rigid back firmly turned toward her, she draped an arm around his waist.

  “Stop that,” he commanded.

  “Beneath the chainmail, you are warm and the night grows chilly.” She could scarcely believe her own boldness. But she hadn’t been lying; the April air was rapidly cooling and the dirt floor of the shed still retained all the damp cold of winter. The cold seeped upward through the straw, through the wool of her cloak and her gown, and sank into her bones. “I will be more comfortable if you hold me close.”

  “Are you truly so innocent?” In a sudden movement he turned to face her. “Or are you trying to provoke me?”

  “I am trying to convince you that both of us will be warmer and, thus, sleep more soundly, if we stay close to each other.” She didn’t add that she longed to feel his arms around her. If he kissed her, so much the better. No, she was not completely innocent, but she was tired, and honestly cold, and more than a little frightened to know the French king’s spies might be pursuing them with the intention of killing them – and, likely, of doing worse than murder to her before she was finally dead – and she needed a bit of comfort.

  So, when Desmond’s arms pulled her close, she snuggled against his broad chest, rested her cheek on the metal links of his armor, and began to relax. When his lips brushed across her forehead and his big hand smoothed a few loose strands of hair away from her face, she turned her cheek into his palm.

  She heard the hiss of his indrawn breath and felt the increased pressure of his embrace…

  Desmond was so keenly aware of her every heartbeat that he knew the instant when she fell asleep.

  “My sweet lady, you are far too trusting,” he murmured, safe in the knowledge that she couldn’t hear him. “You have no idea what a rogue I am – or how badly I want you.”

  Elaine slept on, warm and sheltered in his arms, secure in her trust of him. Desmond did not sleep half so well. Tormented by frustrated desire, he dozed and wakened again, alert to every sound the cow made as it rustled about in its stall. He heard the soft footsteps of a nocturnal animal prowling outside the shed, until the creature moved on. Finally, toward dawn, a door opened at the back of the little cottage.

  Desmond was reasonably sure it was the old woman he heard, muttering as she came toward the shed, most likely to milk the cow. Even so, he wanted Elaine wide awake, just in case danger came with the woman.

  So he told himself, and to waken Elaine he seized the quietest, quickest, and most desirable course of action. Ah yes, most desirable to him, he admitted with scalding honesty.

  He kissed her, long and slow and deeply, sensing sleep deserting her, tasting her response, his flesh burning where her hand clutched his tunic just over his heart. Elaine, freshly roused from sleep, was so delicious that he needed all his strength of will to tear himself away from her.

  But he did leave her. By the time the shed door was opened wide and the old woman entered carrying a milk pail, Desmond was on the opposite side of the shed from Elaine, stretching as if he had only just wakened, though the sword he had removed before lying down in the straw was close at hand.

  Chapter 16

  The old woman gave them a round loaf of bread still warm from the oven. When she finished milking the cow, she refilled the pottery mug with the fresh milk.

  “We took feed for our horses and you have fed us most generously,” Desmond told her, handing over several coins. “Do what you wish with these; give them to the priest if you want. We leave you with our thanks.”

  The sun was just rising when they set out again.

  “You do realize,” Elaine said as soon as they were beyond the cluster of houses, “that she will tell everyone in the village how we spent the night in the shed. If anyone is following us and asks about us…” She left the thought unfinished.

  “I know,” Desmond responded, “but she could have refused us a place to sleep and let us fend for ourselves under a hedge. If she had done so, she’d still talk to any man asking questions about us. Thanks to her kindness, we enjoyed a quiet night and our bellies are full. Those blessings are well worth the few coins I paid her.”

  He set a faster pace that morning, no longer protecting the horses. Elaine assumed it was because they’d change their mounts in St. Lo. Or, perhaps, he hoped to outdistance any pursuers. Her initial stiffness quickly disappeared and as the day warmed, her spirits rose. Surely, all would be well. They would reach Caen in another three days at most, and once they had given their warning, Royce would see to it that King Henry was safe. She refused to think any further than that. She’d deal later with the need to explain Aglise’s death to her mother.

  The fortress at the heart of St. Lo sat atop a rocky prominence that reared up above the surrounding countryside. Desmond did not pause to gape at the high, threatening ramparts as Elaine was doing, but galloped right up to the main gate. There he was halted by two men-at-arms with pikes crossed. Drawing forth the letter he carried, with the king’s seal in red wax above Royce’s signature and smaller seal, he unfolded it and showed it to the guards.

  “In the name
of the king,” Desmond declared in a forceful tone, “we must speak with your commander. Our business is urgent.”

  One of the guards came forward to squint at the letter as if he could read it. Elaine noticed how Desmond never let go of the document. After a moment the guard called to someone inside the gatehouse. The fellow who stepped forward, by his youth and lack of a sword, was apparently a squire.

  “You’ll find Sir Edmund in the great hall,” the guard said to Desmond. “Pierre, here, will escort you to him.”

  The great hall of the fortress proved to be poorly lit and, from the little Elaine could see, it was neither clean nor comfortable. The rushes on the floor smelled foul, dogs roamed about, scavenging what scraps they could from discarded bones and, most disturbing of all to Elaine, a dozen or so tough looking men-at-arms loitered on the benches, watching her and Desmond with hard eyes.

  “My lord,” the squire announced to the man who sat at the high table, “here is a strange knight who’s come to speak with you, and a lady, too.”

  “Sir Edmund,” Desmond said, bowing his head only slightly, “I carry authorization from both King Henry and Lord Royce.”

  The commander of St. Lo was a large, red-faced man with dark eyes and greying hair, who very slowly read the letter Desmond offered, and who moved his lips as he perused it. This time Desmond did release the parchment, though he kept his hand extended to retrieve it as soon as Sir Edmund was finished with it.

  “This says only that you are to have whatever cooperation is necessary.” Sir Edmund fixed a challenging stare on Desmond. “It doesn’t say why I am to cooperate.”

  “Do you know Lord Royce?” Desmond asked with cool arrogance. Reaching across the table, he took back the letter, refolded it, and tucked it into his belt pouch.

  “We’ve met.” Sir Edmund didn’t seem impressed by the mention of King Henry’s formidable spymaster.

  “I am on the king’s business, at Lord Royce’s behest,” Desmond said.

  “And the lady?” Sir Edmund subjected Elaine to a penetrating inspection.

  “She is a witness in the matter I have been investigating,” Desmond said. “We require fresh horses and we must leave as soon as they can be saddled.”

  “From where have you come?” Sir Edmund asked. “Where are you bound?”

  They were reasonable questions, considering the system Desmond had described to Elaine, of lending horses that awaited return to their home stables, yet she thought she detected something more than mere ordinary interest in Sir Edmund’s manner as he stepped off the dais to stand facing Desmond.

  “We have ridden from Avranches in hope of finding King Henry in residence here at St. Lo,” Desmond answered with no sign of concern or hesitation. “Since he is obviously not here, our duty is to follow him to Caen.”

  “And in haste, you say. Well, Sir Desmond, let me offer a piece of good advice. Recently I have received reports of trouble along the main road that runs from St. Lo to Bayeux, and thence to Caen. Several travelers were stopped and robbed and one man even now lies close to death from a sword thrust. My men-at-arms are searching for the thieves, but I dare not call that road safe until the villains are found and imprisoned.”

  “I see.” Desmond considered the information. “What do you suggest we do, then?”

  “Take another route. Follow the road that leads south from here, along the River Vire.”

  “I have no wish to travel south,” Desmond objected.

  “I know it seems a roundabout way,” Sir Edmund told him. “But if you leave the road at the village of Torigni and ride northeastward across the open countryside, you will soon reach the royal road that runs north to Caen. That road is patrolled by King Henry’s soldiers, so it will be safer than the other route. Surely you know the most direct road is not always the quickest way to reach your destination. Or, in this case, the safest way.”

  “I’m sure your advice is good, and I thank you for it,” Desmond said politely.

  “If you can spare an hour or two, it will be my pleasure to provide a meal for you and a chance for the lady to rest,” Sir Edmund said.

  “You are very kind,” Elaine spoke up, “and at another time I will be delighted to sup with you. But, as Sir Desmond has said, we must be on our way.” She offered her hand and smiled when he bent over it, though she distrusted him as she had once distrusted Lady Benedicta, on instinct alone.

  “I don’t know your name,” Sir Edmund murmured, returning her smile.

  “I am Lady Aglise of Dereham.” Elaine surprised herself by how easily she lied. “Lord Royce is my godfather, and when I see him in Caen, I will be certain to mention your kind assistance to us.”

  “Ah.” Sir Edmund dropped her hand and turned to the squire who had remained listening and watching the interview. “Pierre, conduct our guests to the stable and allow them to choose any two mounts among those destined to be returned to Caen. And be assured, Sir Desmond, that your own horses will arrive safely in Caen within a few days.”

  Less than an hour later they were on their way again, riding southward as Sir Edmund had advised, moving at a steady canter that allowed Elaine the opportunity to observe the countryside. Around them lay rolling hills clothed in the gentle green of early spring, with the sparkling River Vire on their right. It was all quite lovely, but even as she breathed deeply of the fresh warm air after the unpleasant odors of the fortress hall, she kept an eye on Desmond. She expected him to make a contrary move soon, and she wasn’t disappointed.

  Once they were out of sight of the fortress on its high, rocky hill, Desmond flashed a sudden grin at her and spurred his horse into a gallop. Elaine was prepared, so she easily kept pace with him until he slowed enough for them to talk.

  “How much farther shall we travel before we choose our own route?” she asked. She was not surprised to hear his delighted laugh.

  “So, you trusted Sir Edmund no more than I did,” he said. “I thought not, though you kept so quiet. Clever Elaine. You are a good student; you’d make a fine spy.”

  “I saw something cold and calculating in his eyes,” she revealed. “At first, I supposed he was being cautious about unexpected visitors, as the commander of any fortress ought to be. But I could not like him, perhaps because he reminded me of Lady Benedicta. It’s possible the tale he recounted, of travelers being stopped and robbed, is true. He may have seized on the circumstance as a convenient excuse. Or perhaps, he invented the story to frighten us and to make you worry about my safety.”

  “Did you notice the men-at-arms in the hall?” Desmond asked. “They looked like thieves, themselves. It’s too bad I have no previous personal acquaintance with the commander of St. Lo.”

  “Are you suggesting the man we spoke to is an impostor? A French spy, perhaps? But, Desmond, this countryside is so peaceful. If the fortress was taken by force, wouldn’t we see burning houses, trampled fields, bodies along the way?”

  “Not if St. Lo was seized by stealth. I just don’t know, Elaine. Royce may be able to answer our questions after we reach Caen. Our task now is to arrive there alive and in fit condition to speak to him. Our one advantage is that Sir Edmund may assume we are riding slowly out of deference to your supposed limitations as a woman. If he plans an ambush, we will be far ahead of where he expects us to be, for he cannot know what a fine rider you are. We leave the road here.”

  “Well before we reach Torigni, where any sensible traveler would stop for a short time, to eat and rest the horses,” she said, nodding her approval of his plan. “I’ll wager that’s where Sir Edmund thinks to catch us. But when his people ride into Torigni, we will be well on our way to Caen.”

  They left the river behind and galloped east. At first the sun lay warm on their backs. Then they entered a forest, where the shade chilled the air and the dense underbrush slowed their progress. As soon as they were out of sight of anyone on the road, Desmond halted. While Elaine watched, puzzled, he dug into his saddlebag.

  “Here.” He
handed her a knife in a long sheath. “Fasten this to your belt. You may need it.” His fingers lingered against hers when she accepted the weapon.

  “Don’t hesitate to use it,” he instructed. “I’ll do my best to defend you, but we don’t know how many men will come against us.”

  “Are you sure we’ll be attacked?” she asked.

  “As sure as any spy can be.” His familiar smile flashed again, giving her the impression that he was looking forward to a fight. “I have learned to listen to the warnings in my mind. On the one occasion when I did not listen, I was captured. I’ll not be taken by treachery a second time. Nor will you be harmed while I have breath in my body.”

  She said nothing, merely meeting his level gaze for a long moment before she finally, and very reluctantly, secured the knife so she could reach it easily. She prayed she wouldn’t have to use it, though she trusted Desmond’s instincts.

  They spent the next hour or so moving through the forest as quickly as possible while trying to leave few traces of their passing for anyone to follow.

  “I begin to think we should have ridden directly to Bayeux,” Elaine grumbled. “Or else, I should have dressed in hose and tunic, so I’d have no skirt to catch on brambles and twigs.”

  “I’d like to see you in men’s clothing,” Desmond responded, though he wasn’t looking at her. “Stay here. I see sunlight just ahead, so I think that must be where the trees end. Let me see if anyone is waiting for us.”

  He rode on and Elaine finished untangling her hem from a bush, then tried to tidy the hair that had pulled out of her thick braid. By the time she reached Caen, she was going to look thoroughly disreputable. She hoped Royce would recognize her. She couldn’t begin to imagine what her mother would say about her appearance. Lady Irmina was always perfectly dressed and coifed, and she had frequently criticized Elaine for her lack of interest in the gaudy finery and face paint and jewels so common at the royal court.