Fighting equals.
Then Richard grinned through split lips. “Besides,” he said, “he’ll bring either a great ransom—or great amusement.”
His knights muttered and wiped blood from their faces. Right now, they didn’t care about the ransom. Left on their own, they would have battered Hugh to death, but they’d been trained to obey Richard, and that put a rein on their tempers.
The servants dragged away unconscious warriors, and when the knight who had started it stirred, they kicked him into submission and hauled him away, Hugh knew not where.
Hugh wiped blood off his face and winced at the swelling his fingers explored. Edlyn would have to examine this. Edlyn…she stalked toward them with her herb bag in hand.
She didn’t look happy.
Prudently, Hugh stepped back and pointed at Richard. “Take him first.”
“I will,” she answered. “You deserve to suffer a little longer.”
Richard sat docilely for her ministrations, but he addressed his knights the whole time. “Sheep aren’t as stupid as you men. Think! The earl of Roxford is the royal commander. The prince will want him back. Simon of Montfort’ll want him hanged. We can make as much money off of him as we could in a year of fighting.”
He winced away from Edlyn’s unexpectedly brisk hand as she applied salve to his broken nose. “And what do you intend to do with me?” she asked.
He looked startled.
“You never thought beyond tonight, did you?” She grabbed him by the ear and twisted it. “I’m nothing but a thing to use to even the score—whatever that score is—with my lord Hugh.”
“Ouch,” Richard said. “Ouch, ouch, ouch.” His voice rose in a crescendo as he slid off the bench and onto the floor trying to escape her cruel hand.
Hugh had never seen her look more magnificent. Lit by the flame of fury, she incited worship, like a goddess from the old religion.
Richard had needed this kind of discipline for years, and Hugh cackled when he heard Richard whimper.
A mistake.
Edlyn let Richard go and rounded on Hugh. “If you think that’s funny, wait until I clean your wounds.”
“I am well.” Hugh’s jaw ached and the skin over his ribs—that newly healed wound—rang like a church bell, but his eye throbbed the worst. Cupping his hand, he covered it. “I am well!”
She pried his hand away and gazed at the magnificent bruise. “Put your head in a bucket of water. It’ll take down the swelling.”
She walked back to the head table, and no one stepped in her way.
“If you do that, you’ll drown.” Richard spoke from his place under the bench.
Hugh stared down at his nemesis, brought low by a lady’s hand. “And you wanted to own her.”
“She goes with you.” Richard chuckled and crawled to his feet. “She can’t be an easy woman to live with.” He scratched his chin. “Especially if…”
His voice trailed off, but he got such an expression of fiendish delight on his face that Hugh clutched. What was Richard up to now?
With a speculative glance at first Hugh, then Edlyn, Richard took his place beside Edlyn at the head table. Hugh was braced for disaster, but although he observed them closely, he saw nothing untoward in Richard’s behavior. They ate from the same trencher but never touched. They spoke but never smiled. They might have been miserably married for years, for all the coolness they showed each other, and Hugh found himself pitying Richard of Wiltshire.
Halfway through the meal of venison culled from the king’s forest, Edlyn rose and from beneath the table drew a lute. Every eye observed her as she strode into the center of the great hall and strummed a note. All conversation died, and Hugh thought the thieves waited almost nervously for Edlyn’s next move.
She strummed again, then played a dramatic series of notes. “On the request of my host, I tell the tale of Fulk Fitzwarin the outlaw.”
Not that tale! Hugh wanted to shout. Anything but that one. He didn’t need Richard and his men encouraged in their struggle against the king’s authority.
But as her sweet, low voice began the tale, Richard’s men leaned forward, prepared to listen to the tale of the outlaw so like themselves.
It seemed Edlyn knew what she was doing.
Moving slowly, careful not to draw attention to himself, Hugh slipped back into the shadows, prepared to grasp what weapons he could and steal the others. Edlyn might be irritated with him, but she needed him to save her from the fate that awaited her.
Slowly, accompanied by occasional dramatic strummings on the lute and an innate sense of drama, Edlyn spun the story of Fulk Fitzwarin and his mighty struggle against evil King John. She told how he lost his birthright through treachery.
Hugh slipped sword after sword from the scabbards that rested on the floor beside each mesmerized knight.
She told how Fulk always maintained the highest standards and never robbed except from the king.
Hugh picked up a carving knife from one of the platters of meat.
She told how Fulk married the lovely and gracious Lady Matilda to save her from King John’s lecherous intentions.
Hugh found a shield propped up against the wall and hid his stockpile of weapons beneath it. Then he grasped the sword and dagger he’d chosen as his own. He would attack at a propitious moment—but first he wanted to hear about the deliverance of Sir Ardulf. It was his favorite part.
The men around Hugh forgot to eat, they forgot to scratch, they forgot to fart. They did nothing but stare at Edlyn as she jerked their heartstrings. They laughed when she described how Fulk used the king’s fine cloth to make outfits for merchants, then sent the men to the king to thank him for his generosity. They held their breaths when she described Fulk’s daring rescue of his brother. They cried when two of his faithful followers fell to the king’s arrows.
They listened to the end, so intent on Edlyn’s tale they were transported through time and space to walk in the shoes of noble Fulk Fitzwarin.
And when she finished, they paid homage to her skill in stunned and worshipful silence.
Hugh paid homage, too, until she stared into his eyes and he woke from the spell with a start.
He looked at the sword he grasped tight in his hand.
It was even his sword.
He’d taken it from the scurvy wretch who had stolen it from him—and he’d forgotten to use it. Edlyn had used her voice, her skill, her cleverness to bind the thieves, and she’d bound them so tightly he could have slit every throat and each would have died with a smile on his face. But she’d bound him at the same time.
He’d never felt so foolish in his life. By the saints, he’d never been so foolish in his life.
From the head table, he heard a quivering sigh. Richard of Wiltshire was recovering.
Both Hugh and Edlyn snapped their attention to their host and saw him wiping his eyes on the edge of the grimy tablecloth. The other men, sniffling and clearing their throats, lifted their cups in silent tribute.
Standing, Richard inclined his head humbly to Edlyn. “My lady, you have indeed followed through on your vow to entertain us most nobly. I put my hand, my heart, my possessions at your feet.”
She swept him a curtsy. “Good Sir Knight, I thank you for your praise of my feeble efforts.”
“There is nothing I would not do to give you your heart’s desire, and that desire, I believe, is for…freedom.” He winced a little as he said it, but when he saw that dismay made Hugh’s jaw drop, his voice strengthened. “Aye, freedom for you, for your men, for your possessions.” His men interrupted with shouts of complaint, but he laid about him with the flat of his sword and cowed them into silence. “Your possessions,” he repeated. “And your husband.” His gaze shifted to the sword Hugh held, then he smiled mirthfully at Hugh. “Aye, let your husband know he owes liberty and life to his bride.”
13
Edlyn waited in horrified anticipation for Hugh to reject Richard’s offer. She could see the pr
ide working on him and could see, too, Richard’s waiting with confident expectation for Hugh’s challenge.
This was not about her or her skill at storytelling but about two men who saw the chance to settle an old rancor.
But she had children lost in the wilds outside Castle Juxon, and Hugh had allowed himself to be intoxicated by her telling of a legend. She cleared her throat meaningfully, and Hugh tore his furious gaze from Richard. She mouthed the words. “Thank him.”
Hugh curled his lip. “We accept with gratitude, Richard of Wiltshire.” He bent as if to bow in low obeisance and instead swept a scabbard off the floor.
Richard stepped back in sudden alarm, but when Hugh made no hostile move, he grinned mockingly. “You didn’t get to be the prince’s commander by being stupid, did you?”
Hugh looked at Edlyn. He knew how he must behave, but like a child he appealed to her for sympathy.
She did understand his distaste. When Richard grinned like that, she wanted to do him an injury.
Staring at Richard without expression, Hugh buckled the scabbard around his waist.
“Hey!” The knight sitting near Hugh pointed. “That’s my scabbard and my sword. I stole it honestly!” He dove for Hugh and attempted to snatch it back.
Hugh used the knave as a substitute for Richard and took the opportunity to beat him half silly.
The grunts and shouts of the brawl assaulted Edlyn, but she pretended not to notice.
Meanwhile, Richard shouted to his men until they started moving, very slowly, to bring out the goods they had stolen from Hugh’s company. What had been packed away was now heaped together with other loot taken from other travelers, and Edlyn moaned softly as she considered the coming task of repacking the carts.
Satisfied he had been obeyed, Richard appeared at her side. “My lady.” He took her hand and kissed it. “Should you ever have need of any kind, send a message and we will come at once.” He kissed her palm, then lapped it with his tongue.
She jerked her hand free and slapped him.
Richard didn’t even flinch. He just flashed his usual cocky grin and indicated the still-fighting Hugh. “Too bad he found you first. You would have made a fabulous outlaw.”
“I doubt that.” She nursed her stinging palm and wondered at herself. She had never hit anyone—now, in the space of one afternoon, she’d slapped two men. Not that they didn’t deserve it. “My sons would disapprove.”
Both black eyebrows lifted. “You have sons? Not in my dungeon, I hope.”
“Somewhere in the forest,” she answered.
The outlaw wasn’t stupid. He read her anxiety, and for the first time since she’d met him, all trace of humor vanished from his countenance. “I’ll send my men.”
As he gave instructions, Hugh came to her, picked up her hand, looked at it, then glared at Richard. She didn’t know how, in the midst of his fight, he’d seen Richard kiss it, but now he scrubbed her hand between both of his as if to erase the contact.
At his touch, she relaxed. A silly relief, really, to think that if he held her, he still liked her. He probably didn’t; he’d looked so chagrined when she finished Fulk’s tale, and she knew how men thought. Probably he blamed her for capturing his interest so thoroughly he forgot his duty. But the warmth of his skin seemed to tell her that with Hugh she would be safe, and she leaned into him and rested her forehead on his chest.
Hugh caught her neck with his big hand and pressed her closer, turning her head so she rested against him and his arms could enfold her. His voice rumbled in her ear. “I’ll not doubt your storytelling abilities again.”
She detected a note of self-deprecating humor in his voice and raised her head. His face had been battered. His lips were split. His cheek puffed out. One eye was almost swollen shut, but the other eye twinkled at her. Her fingers stopped clutching his waist and slid up his chest, up his neck, and touched each bloody place gently.
He caught her hand and kissed her fingertips.
This bore no resemblance to Richard’s kiss. It wasn’t like anything she’d ever experienced. It was a spark created by two simple points of contact, like a firesteel and flint. Then his body pressed ever more tightly against hers, and their union was more than a spark. It was the whole pile of wood in flames. It was the forest fire ignited by lightning.
“If I don’t get you alone soon…”
Beside them, Richard cleared his throat. He’d caught them entwined like two illicit lovers, and Edlyn stepped quickly away. Then she wished she hadn’t. They were, after all, married. Only…not for long. Not long enough for them to be comfortable with each other.
“My lady.” Richard took her hand, the same hand Hugh had kissed.
She bunched it into a fist.
He held up the fist for Hugh’s inspection. “A message, do you think?”
Hugh held up a fist, larger, mangled, and bloody, and said, “A message you would be wise to heed.”
“But let us observe the courtesies for the time we have left together.” Richard placed her fist on his arm. “We’ll go release your lord’s men from the dungeon.”
“Go with our host, dear wife,” Hugh said. “I’ll be right behind you.”
It would be silly to object, she knew. Richard could still, after all, change his mind and keep all of them prisoners. Still, the men could fend for themselves. “I would rather find my children.”
“My men will find them,” Richard said. “If your children are anything like their mother, they probably already have a plan to assault the castle and free you.”
“Saint Mary forbid!” she cried but wondered if it was true.
Leading her toward the stairs, Richard called, “You come, too, Lord Roxford.”
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
When Richard’s man-at-arms opened the dungeon door, a blast of stale air struck Edlyn.
“Come,” Richard called congenially. “’Tis time to take your leave of my hospitality.”
Cautiously, one by one, Hugh’s men staggered out. They stared and blinked.
Wharton rushed toward his master. “Ah, yer face!” Standing on his toes, he examined Hugh. “How fares th’ other man?”
In a solicitous tone, Sir Lyndon asked, “The bastards have been beating you, haven’t they, my lord?”
Beneath the touch of her hand, Edlyn felt Richard jump. She clutched at him and said, “We don’t have time for another brawl.” Pointing at Richard’s bruises, she told Lyndon, “If anyone’s been beaten, it would seem Richard of Wiltshire came in for his share.”
Sir Lyndon stared pointedly at her hand resting on Richard’s arm and tried to speak again, but Almund crawled out of the dungeon on his knees.
With an exclamation of horror, Edlyn rushed to assist him.
“What’s he doing down here?” Richard asked. “The last I saw of him, he lay upstairs moaning, complaining he would die while coughing up his lungs.”
The man-at-arms in charge said, “That man tried t’ crack me on th’ head wi’ a battle ax.”
“Did he?” Richard looked at Edlyn knowingly. “An amazing feat for one so enfeebled.”
“I woulda done it, too.” Almund let Edlyn prop him against a wall.
“Aye, except ye tipped over when ye lifted it,” the man-at-arms said.
Everyone laughed. Everyone except Sir Lyndon. He glared around in vexation. “The old ferryman said Lady Roxford schemed for him to rescue us. Trust a woman to plan something so asinine.”
“Ye’re out, aren’t ye?” Wharton said sourly.
He didn’t like Sir Lyndon, Edlyn realized. Of course, she didn’t like Wharton, so where did that leave them?
“My lady Roxford’s schemes have worked well for all of you,” Richard answered. “Line up against the wall. Line up!”
Hugh’s men looked to Hugh, and he waved them along.
Rubbing his hands, Richard announced, “I want you all to know I am letting you go, and I want you to know why. Your lady won you your freedom. She
, and she alone, convinced me to return your belongings and allow you to go on your way.”
Hugh’s men said nothing. They stared at her up and down, then at Richard, and Edlyn shriveled as she realized what they thought.
Richard realized, too, and she acquitted him of trying to dishonor her name when he added, “She won your freedom with her skill in storytelling.”
“Storytelling?” Sir Lyndon sneered. “I’ve never heard it called that before.”
Richard and Hugh almost collided trying to get to him, but Richard was closer and he got there first. The knife appeared in his hand so easily he must have had it up his sleeve, and he pressed it against Sir Lyndon’s throat. “You’re insolent, my man, about your betters.”
“Betters?” Sir Lyndon said. “She’s just a woman and a—”
Richard shaved a piece of skin off Lyndon’s Adam’s apple. “You’re stupid, too.” Blood spurted in a dreadful crimson stream. “But you’re not my man, praise God, and it’s not my place to kill you.” He looked at Hugh. “May I slit his throat, my lord?”
“Hugh.” Edlyn bumped him, and when he looked at her, she shook her head.
“Nay.” Hugh agreed reluctantly. “My wife wishes to grant him his life.” His voice strengthened. “But you can leave him in your dungeon until the rats have devoured his contemptuous tongue.”
“Should anyone else feel the desire to insult my lady Roxford, let me announce I would take it poorly.” Richard threw Sir Lyndon at his guards, and they bundled him back toward the open dungeon door. “All my compassion has been consumed by this ill-met villain, so I will only tell you once—Lady Edlyn told us the tale of Fulk Fitzwarin with such skill she trapped us in her spell, and as a reward for her kindness, I am releasing you all. All!” He gestured extravagantly, knife still in hand, and Hugh’s men shrank back. “With your possessions. So thank your lady and get out of my castle.”
They did thank her. They thanked her as they filed past her on their way to the bailey. They thanked her as they filled the carts with their tumbled belongings. They thanked her until Richard smirked at Hugh. They even thanked her after Richard left to supervise the distribution of goods.
A Knight to Remember: Good Knights #2 Page 18
